
Gass Tl?.^? > OC ) 



Book 



f?09 



PRESENTED BV 



7rvi.>l.c«:ttW 



3 5- 



crvL 



17 s 



pS 



/ 



Cxyl^C^ Xrr*^ IC^M^*^^ ' 



THB 

POETICAL WORKS 

OP 

ROBERT BURNS 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



ROBERT -BURNS 



EDITED BY THE 

Rev. ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT 
) 







M^^B 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 



Cj^tjj 






MR. HUTCHES«N. 
17S'03 



h^ArK 






TO THE 

NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 



CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



My Lords and Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest ambition is to dug 
in his Coimtry's service — ^where shall he so properly look for patronage as to thfl 
illustrious names of his native Land, — those who bear the honours and inherit the 
viitues of their Ancestors f The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the 
prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha— at the plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle 
over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural plea- 
sures of my native soil, in my native tongue ; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as 
che inspired. — She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, 
and lay my Song under your honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords 
and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for past favours ; 
that path is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed 
of it. Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, 
looking for a continuation of those favours : I was bred to the Plough, and am 
independent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious 
Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to congra- 
tulate my Country, that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; 
and that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protec- 
tion, wealth, and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes 
to the Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your wdfiua 
vid happinbws. 



■V DEDICATION. 

When you go forth to awaken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite amtise> 
ment of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever he of your party ; and may Social 
Toy await your return. When harassed in courts or camps with the jostlings of 
bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend 
your return to your native Seats ; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiUng 
welcome, meet you at your gates ! May corruption shrink at your kindling indig- 
nant glance, and may tjnianny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People 
equally find you an inexorable foe I 

I have the honour to be. 
With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect, 
My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 



PREFACE. 



The Poems of Burns have been edited, and tus Life 
has been written by eminent countrymen, with a copious- 
ness of illustration and a minuteness of inquiry altogether 
beyond my abilities and my limits. Perhaps an English 
reader sometimes thinks the work slightly overdone, and 
even feels a very languid curiosity about the character of 
" Poosie Nansie," or the politics of Dumfries. I have not, 
however, intentionally underrated the interest of my sub- 
ject. The Text has been carefuUy examined, and the 
notes convey the information which was incidentally fur- 
nished by the Poet and his Brother, and generally in their 
own language. With a hope of rendering the Scottish 
Poems less difficult to the inexperienced eye, the harder 
words are explained at the foot of the page, and, I trust, 
with sufficient accuracy. 



PREFACE. 

ted death o: 

edition has been called for j and the Publishers have taken 
the opportunity of inserting various Poems and Songs 
of great merit, which had been omitted in previous editions. 
Many of them are accompanied by editorial annotations, 
which wiU be found usefiil in giving the dates, and explain- 
ing the circumstances under which they were originally 
written. 

To facilitate immediate and ready reference to any of 
the numerous Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c., scattered 
throughout the volume, the Editor has prefixed a compre- 
hensive list of Contents, and also appended at the close 
of the volume (in addition to the Glossary) two copious 
Indexes, alphabetically arranged. In this respect, nearly 
all the previous editions of the Works of Bums are ex* 
tremely defective. 

P. A N 



CONTENTS, 



laru AMD WBiTnnH op Robert Bobiis. 



TbeTwaDogs. A Tale .. .. .. .. .. S 

Scotch Drink .. .. .. .. .. '» 4 

The Authoi's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotdl Representatives in 

the House of Commons .. .. .. ..6 

The Lasses of Tarbolton . . . . . . . . 8 

The Holy Fair . . . . . . . . • • 9 

Stanzas on the Death of a Favourite Daughter . . . . • • X3 

Death and Doctor Hornbook. A True Story . . . . • • 13 

The Brigs of Ayr. A Poem .. .. .. ..16 

The Ordination .. .. .. .. ..ao 

To the Right Hon. Charles James Fox . . . . . . as 

The Calf .. .. .. .. .. ..03 

Stanzas to Clarinda .. •• «« ■• ..93 

To Clarinda. With a Present>f a Pair of Drinking Glasses . . 34 

Address to the Deil ,.. .. .. .. ..24 

The Poet's Reply to a Gentleman who had sent Urn a Newspaper . . a6 
TheFirst Kiss of Affection .. .. .. ..26 

The Death and Dying Words of Foot Mailie, the Author's only Pet 

Yowe. An Unco Moumfu' Tale . . • . . . 37 

Poor Mailie's Elegy . . . . . . . /. .".28 

To James Smith . . . . . . . . . , 28 

The Poet's Drsam . . . . . . . . - . 30 

Lines to a Painter, whom Bums found at work on a Picture of Jacob's 

• 3» 



viii CONTENTS. 

fOEMS, ccntiftued. ?AG« 

Verses on a Wag in Mauchline . . . . . . • • 3* 

The Vision . . i. . .. .. . . C 3« 

Lines written in Friars-Carse Hermitage . . . . . . 36 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous . . • • 37 

Tarn Samson's Elegy . . . . . . . . • • 37 

The Tree of Liberty . . . . , . . . • • 39 

Halloween . . . . .1. .. . . ••4a 

The Jolly Beggars. A Cantata . . . . . . . . 45 

Impromptu addressed to a Young Lady in a Church who was engaged 
in searching for a Text given out by the Minister, which contained 

a Severe Denunciation on Obstinate Si«»ers . . . • 50 

Castle Gordon . . . . . . . . . . 50 

The Auld Farmer's New-Year Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare 
Maggie, on giving her the accustomed Ripp of Com to hansel in the 

New Year . . . . . . . . . . 50 

To a Mouse, on tiuning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, Novem- 
ber, 1785 . . . . . . . . . . . . 5a 

A Winter Night .. .. ,. .. ..S3 

The Tarbolton Lasses . . . . . . . . < • 54 

Verses to an Old Sweetheart after her Marriage . . * * 55 

Efnstle to Davie, a brother Poet . . . . . . . • 55 

The Lament. Occasioned by the Unfortunate Issue of a Friend's .'^oiu: 57 

Despondency. An Ode . . . . . . . . . . 58 

Lines to my Bed . . . . . . . . . • 59 

Winter. A Dirge . . . . . . . . • . 59 

The Cotter's Saturday Night . . . . . . . . 59 

Man was made to Mourn. A Dirge . . . . . . 63 

On the lUnessofa Beloved Child .. .. .. ..64 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death . . . . . . . . 64 

Stanzas on the same occasion . . « . . . . . . 65 

Verses left in the Room where the Poet Slept . . . . . . 65 

The First Psalm , . . . . . . . . . 66 

A Prayer, under the Pressure of Violent Mguish .. ..66 

Stanzas written while under Excessive Grief . . . . . . 66 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . . . . . . 67 

' To a Mountain Daisy, on turning one down with the Plough, in April, 

X786 67 

To Ruin . . . . , . . . . . , . , 68 

Stanzas on the Destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig . <l 



CONTENTS.} Ix 

iOKKS, centiHued. »agb 

To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems, as a New-Yeai** Gift, January i, 

1787 ^ 

Ejastle to a Young Friend. May, 1786 . . . . • • ^ 

On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies . . . . . . 70 

To a Haggis . . . . . . • . . . • . 71 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq, . . . . • • 7" 

To a , on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church . . • • 73 

lines written at Kenmore, Taymouth . . . . • • 74 

Address to Edinbiurgh . . . . . . . . • • 75 

Epistle to John Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard . . . . . . 76 

To the Same . . . . . • • . • • 77 

The Two Lawyers, in the Parliament House at Edinburgh . . 79 

To William Simpson, Ochiltree . . . . . . • • 79 

Postscript . . . . . . . . . • 

Epistle to John Rankine, enclosing some Poems . . 
Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson, a Gentleman who held the Pa- 
tent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God . . 83 
The Epitaph . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the approach of Spring . . 84 

Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald . . 

Epistle to R. Graham, Esq. 

To Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq. . . 

Lament for James, Earl of Glenc^m . . . . 

Lines, sent to Sir John Whiteford, of Whiteford, Bart., with the fore- 



Tam O' Shanter. A Tale 

Stanzas intended to be written below the Pictiure of a Noble Earl 

On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland, collecting 

the Antiquities of that Kingdom .. ,. ..94 

On seeing a Woimded Hare limp by me, which a fellow had just shot at 95 
Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crowning his Bust at Ednam, 

Roxburghshire, with Bays . . . , . . . . g6 

To Miss Cruikshank, a very Young Lady ; written on the Blank Leaf of 

a Book presented to her by tl^ Author . . . . . . 96 

On Reading, in a Newspaper, the Death of John M'Leod, Esq., brother 

to a Young Lady, a particular Friend of the Author . . • • 96 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the noble Duke of Aihole 97 

Lament on Fergusson .... . . . . • • 9S 

When Guilford good our Pilot st^. A Fragment . . . •^ 9I 

b 



^ CONTENTS. 

PoBMS, continued. fags 

My Tocher's the Jewel . . . . . . ; . . . 99 

Address to the Tooth-ache ; written when the Author was grievously 

tormented by that Disorder . . . . . . • • 99 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child, bom in peculiar circumstances of 

Family Distress . . . . . . . . . . too 

Written with a Pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch-Ness xoa 

Second Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet . . . . . . loi 

The Inventory ; in answer to the usual Mandate sent by a Surveyor of the 
Taxes, requiring a Return of the Number of Horses, Servants, Car- 
riages, etc., kept . . . . . . . . . . loi 

The Whistle. A Ballad . . . . . . . . . . lo* 

To Dr. Blacklock . . . . . . . . . . 105 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland . . . . . . 105 

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo . . . . . . 106 

lines t* a Medical Friend, in>-iting him to attend an Annual Masonic 

Meeting . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 

lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . . . . , . 107 

The Rights of Woman. Prologue spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her 

Benefit Night . . . . . . . . . . 108 

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit Night, December 4, 

^1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries . . . . . . . . 108 

Stanzas addressed to Miss Ferrier, inclosing an Elegy on Sir James 

Hunter Blair . . . . . . . . . . 109 

Verses to a Young Lady, with a Present of Songs . . . . ito 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry . . . . . . . . . . no 

Written on the Blank Leaf of the Last Edition of his Poems, presented to 

the Lady whom he had often celebrated under the name of Chloria in 
Poetical Address to Mr. William Tytler, with the Present of the Bard's 

Picture . . . . . . . . . . . . Ill 

Sketch. — ^New-Year Day. To Mrs. Dunlop . . . . . . ii« 

Extempore, on Mr. William Smellie, author of the Philosophy of Natural 
History, and Member of the Antiquarian and Royal Societies of 

Edinburgh . . . . . . . . . . . . iia 

Inscription for an Altar to Independence, at Kerroughtry, Seat of Mr. 

Heron . . . . . . . . '' . . . . 113 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice . . . . . . 113 

Sonnet, on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel . . 1x3 

Impromptu, on Mrs. Riddel's Birth-Day, November 4, i793 • • ''*4 

To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard presented her x 14 



CONTENTS. 

Poems, centinued. 

Extempore to M». Syme, on refusing to Dine with.hisn, after haying 

been promised the First of Company and the First of Cookery 
To Mr. Syme, with a Present of a Dozen of Porter 
Sonnet, on hearing a Tlirush sing in a Morning Walk 
Poem, addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise 
To a Gentleman whom he had Offended . . , . 

Poem on Life, addressed to Colonel de Peyster, Dumfries 
To Robsrt Graham, Esq., of Fintry, on receiving a Favour 
Eintaph on a Friend 
Epistle to William Creech . . 
A Grace before Dinner . . . . 

Inscription on the Tombstone erected by Bums to the Memory of Fer- 



A Verse composed and repeated by Bums, to the Master of the House, on 
taking leave at a place in the Highlands, where he had been hospit- 
ably entertained . . . . 

liberty. A Fragment 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux 

Answer to Verses addressed to the Poet by the Guidwife of Wauchope- 
House . . , . . . . . . . 

lines on viewing Stirling Castle 

To J. Lapraik . . 

To the Rev. John M'Math, enclosing a Copy of Holy Willie's Prayer, 
which he had requested . . . , . , 

To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauchline ; recommending a Boy 

Epistle to Mr. M'Adam of Craigen Gillan, in answer to an obliging Let 
ter he sent at the commencement of the writer's Poetic Career 

To Captmn Riddel, Glenriddel. Extempore Lines on returning a News- 
paper 

To John Maxwell, of Terraughty, on his Birthday . . 

The Vowels. A Tale 

Prologue for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit-Night, Dumfries 

Elegy on the Year 1788. Sketch 

Delia. An Ode 



Verses written under the Portrait of Fergusson, the Poet, in a Copy of 
that Author's Works, presented to a Young Lady in Edinburgh, 
Match rgth, 1787 

Lament; written at a time when the Poet was about to leave Scotland 



xn CONTENTS. 

Poems, continued. rAGi 

On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair . . . . . • 137 

^^ i'he Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate Oiild . . . . . . laS 

Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock, on the Publication of hig Essays . . laS 

Letter to Junes Tait, Glenconner .. .. .. .< lag 

Epistle from Esopus to Maria . . . . . , . . 130 

On a Suicide . . . . . . . . . . • . 13* 

A Farewell . . . . . . . . , . . . 131 

The Farewell . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 

Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry ; on the close of the Dis- 
puted Election between Sir James Johnstone and Captain Miller, 
for the Dumfries District of Boroughs . . . . . . i3« 

Epbtle to Major Logan . . . . . . . . • • 133 

Epitaph on the Poef s Daughter . . . . . . • • Z35 

Epitaph on Gabriel Richardson . . , . . . . , 135 

Epistle to Hugh Parker . . . . . . . . • • ^35 

Address of Beelzebub to the President of the Highland Society . . 136 

To Mr. John Kennedy . . . , . . . . ••^37 

On the Death of Robert Dundas, Esq., of Arniston, late Lord President 

of the Court of Session . . . . . . . . 137 

To John M'Murdo, Esq. . . . . . . . . . . 138 

On the Death of a Lap-Dog, named Echo .. .. ..138 

The Kirk's Alarm. A Satire .. .. .. .. 138 

Daintie Davie . . . . . . . . . . 14a 

The Selkirk Grace . . . . . . . . . . 140 

Elegy on the Death of Peg Nicholson . . . . . . 14a 

On seeing Miss Fontenelle in a Favourite Character . . " . . 141 

The League and Covenant . . . . . . . . 141 

On Miss Jessy Lewars . . . . . . . . . . 141 

Epitaph on Miss Jessy Lewars . , . . . . . . 141 

The Roco very of Jessy Lewars .. .. .. .. 141 

The Toast . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 

The Kirk of Lamington . . . . . , . . . . 141 

Inscription on a Goblet . . . . . . . . . . 141 

To Miss C Written on a Blank Leaf of one of Miss Hannah More'i 

Works .. .. .. .. .. .. 14a 

The Book-Worms . . . . . . . . . . 14* 

Willie Chalmers .. .. .. .. . . 14J 

On RoVert Riddel .. .. .. .. ..14] 



CONTENTS. xii 

ftmus, amiinutd. rusM 

To John Taylor .. ,. ., .. • . i43 

Lines written on a Bank-Note .. •• •• •• 143 

Bums— Extempore .. ,, ,, •• .. 143 

Remorse .. .. .. .. •• .. 143 

To— -^ .. .. .. .. .. ..144 

In vain would Prudence . . . . . . . . . « 144 

Though Fickle Fortune . , , . . . . . • • I44 

I bum, I bum . . . . . . . . • • X4S 

Tarn the Chapman .. .. .. .. .. 145 

To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's Recovery . . • • i45 

The Parvenu . . . . . . . . . . . • i4S 

To the Owl . , . . . . . . . . . . I4S 

Was e'er Puir Poet . . . . . . . . . . 146 

There's Naething like the Honest Nappy . . . . . , 146 

To the Ruins of Lincluden Abbey . . . . . . . . 146 

Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods on his Benefit Night, Monday, April 

i6, 1787 . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 

Tragic Fragment . . . . . . . . . . 148 

O can ye Labour lea . . . . . . . . . . 148 

Songs :— 

• The Lass o' Ballochmyle . . . . . . .'. ijo 

Song of Death .. .. .. .. ..151 

My ain Kind Dearie i O . . . . . . . . . 151 

Auld Rob Morris . . . . . . . . . . 151 

Naebody .. .. .. .. .. .. 153 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing , . . . . . . . 15a 

Duncan Gray . . . . . . . . . . . . 15:1 

O Poortith . . . . . , . . . . . . 15s 

Galla Water .. .. .. .. .. ..153 

Lord Gregory .. .. .. ., .. ,.154 

Open the Door to me. Oh I ,. .. .. .. 154 

Meg o' the Mill . , / . . .... • . iS4 

Jessie .. .... .. .. ..155 

Wandering Willie .. .. .. ... .. 155 

Logan Braes .. .. .. .. .. 15J 

There was a Lass .. .. .. .. ..156 

Phillis the Fair .. ., ., .. ..is* 

By Allan Stream . . . . . . . . . . 157 



XIV CONTENTS, 

ScMGS, conttnHei. vagi 

Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad . . . • • >57 

Husband, Husband, cease your Strife . . . . . 158 

Had I a Cave . . . . . . . . . . 158 

Deluded Swain . . . . . . . . . . 158 

Thine am I, my tavthful fair . . • • . . . . 159 

Wilt Thou be my Dearie? .. ,. .. . • i» 

Here is the Glen . . . . . . . . . . 159 

On the Seas and Far Away .. .. ,. ,. 159 

Hark I the Mavis . . . . . . . . . . 160 

She says she lo'es me best of a' .. .. .. . . x6o 

My Handsome Nell . . . . . . . . . . x6t 

How Lang and Dreary .. .. .. .. .. x6i 

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks . . . . . . . . i6a 

The Auld Man . . . . . . . . . . 163 

The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress . . . . . . x6a 

Contented wi' Little . . . . . . . . . . 163 

Farewell, thou Stream . . . . . . . . . . 163 

My Nannie's awa . . . . . . . . . . 163 

Sweet fa's the Eve .. .. .. .. ..164 

Lassie, art thou sleeping yet . . . . . . . . 164 

Twas na her bonnie Blue E'e . . , , . . . . 165 

Their Groves o' sweet Myrtles . . . . . . . . 165 

Address to the Woodlark . . . . . . . . 165 

How cruel are the Parents .. .. .. .. x66 

Mark yonder Pomp . . . . . . . . . . x66 

1 see a Form, I see a Face .. ., .. .. x66 

O bonnie was yon Rosy Brier . . . . . . . . x66 

Forlorn, my Love . . . . . . . . . . 167 

Last May a braw Wooer . . . . . . . . . . 167 

Hey for a Lass wf a Tocher . . . . . . . . 168 

Altho' thou maun never be mine . . . . . . . . 168 

TheBirksof Aberfeldy .. .. .. .. ..169 

The Young Highland Rover . . . . . . . . 169 

Stay, my Charmer .. .. .. .. .. 169 

Full well thou know'sl . . . , . . . . . . 169 

Strathallan's Lament .. .. .. .. •. 170 

Raving Winds around her blowing . . . . . . . . 170 

Musing on the Roaring Ocean . . . . . . • . 170 

Blithe was she . . . . . . . . . i«« 



CONTENTS. XV 

toKoa, tontinMed. facb 

Peggy's Charms . . . . . . . , . . 171 

The Lazy Mist . . . . . . . . > . . 171 

A Rose-bud by my Early Walk . . . . . . . . 171 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day . . . . . . . . 17a 

I love my Jean .. •• .. .. .. 17s 

O, were I on Parnassus' Hill •• .. .. .. 17a 

The Blissful Day . . , . . . . . . . 173 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle . . . . , , . . 173 

The Happy Trio . , . . . . . . . . 173 

The Blue-eyed Lassie . . . . . . ' . . . . 174 

John Anderson, my Jo,. .. •• .. .. 174 

Tarn Glen .. .. .. .. ,. .. 1^4 

Gane is the Day . . . . , , , , . . 175 

What can a Young Lassie do wi' an Auld Maa . . . • 175 

O, for Ane-and-twenty, Tarn . , . . . . . . 175 

The bonnie Wee Thing . . . . . . . . . . 176 

The Banks of Nith . . . . . . . . . . 176 

Bessy and her Spinnin Wheel . . . . . . . , 176 

Country Lassie , , . . . . . . . . 177 

Fair Eliza . . . . J. . . . . • • i77 

She's Fair and Pause . . . . . . . . . . 178 

The Posie . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 

The Banks o' Doon . . . . . . . . . . 178 

Gloomy December . . . . . . . . . . 179 

Behold the Hovu- . . . . . . . . • • i79 

WilUe'sWife .. .. .. .. ... ..180 

Afton Water . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 

Louis, what reck I by thee . . . . . . . . 181 

Bonnie Bell . . . . . . . . . . . . 181 

For the sake of Somebody . . . . . . . . 181 

O May, thy Mom . . . . . . . . . . 181 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness . . . . • . . . 181 

A Red, Red Rose . . . . . . • . . . 183 

O, wat ye wha's in yon Town . . . . • • • ■ 183 

A Vision . . . . '. . . . . . ... 183 

O wert thou in the Cauld Blast . . . . . . . . V83 

The Highland Lassie . . . . . • • . » . . 183 

Jockey's ta'en the Parting Kin . , . . • . . . 184 

Peggy't Chamu .. .. *• <• .. XS4 



CONTJENTS. 

</GS, coHtintud. 
Up in the Morning early 
Tho' cruel Fate 
I dream'd I lay where Flowers were spiing^g 
Bonnie Ann . . . . 

My bonnie Mary 
My Heart's in the Highlands 
There's a Youth in this City 
Ths rantin Dog the Daddie o't 
I do confess thou art sae fair 
Yon wild Mossy Mountains 
Wha is that at nvy Bower Doort 
The bonnie blink o' Mary's E'e 
Farewell to Nancy 
The bonnie Lad that's far awa 
The Gowden Locks of Anna 
Postscript 
Out over the Forth 
Banks of Devon 
Adown winding Nith 
The Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman 
Blithe hae I been on yon Hill 
O were my Love yon Lilac fair 
Come, let me take thee 
Where are the Joys 
O saw ye my Dear 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 
My Chloris 

Charming Month of May 
Let not Woman e'er complain 
O PhiUy 
John Barleycorn 
Canst thou leave me thus . . 
On Chloris being 111 . . 

The Rigs o' Barley 
Farewell to Eliza 
My Nannie, O . . 

Green grow the Rashes. A Fragment 
Now Westlin Winds 
The Big-belhed Bottle 



CONTENTS. 

K^HGS, continued. 

The Author's Farewell to his Native Country . . 

The Farewell. To the Bi«thren of St. James's LodgSj, Tarbolton 

And maun I still on Menie doat 

Highland Mary 

Auld Lang Syne 

Bannockbum. Robert Bruce's Address to his Army 

The Gallant Weaver 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire 

For a' that and a' that 

To Mr. Cunningham 

Why, why tell thy Lover . . 

Caledonia 

On the Battle of Sheriff-Muir, between the Duke of Argyle 

ef Mar . . . . 

The Dumfries Volunteers . . 

O, wha is she that lo'es me . . 

Captain Grose . . 

Whistle owre the lave o't . . 

Yoimg Jockey . . 

M'Pherson's Farewell . , 

The Dean of Faculty. A New Ballad 

I'll aye ca' in by yon Town . . 

A Bottle and Friend 

I'll kiss thee yet , . 

On Cessnock Banks 

Prayer for Mary 

Young Peggy . . 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie comes Hame 

There was a Lad 

To Mary 

Mary Morison . . . . . . 

The Sodger's Return 

A Mother's Lament for the Death of her Son 

My Father was a Farmer . . 

Bonnie Lesley . . i . . . 

Amang the Trees 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle . . 

On Sensibility. To my dear and much-honouied Friend, 

\a^ q{ Dunlop 



rAGR 

197 

198 



viu CONTENTS. 

Songs, conttHued. 

Montgomerie's Peggy < . 

On a Bank of Flowers 

O raging Fortune's withering Blast 

Evan Banks . . . . 

Women's Minds . . 

To Mary in Heaven 

To Mary 

O leave Novels 

Address to General Dumourier. A Parody on Robin Adair 

Sweetest May . . 

One Night as I did wander 

The Winter it is past 

Fragment 

The Chevalier's Lament . . 

The Belles of Mauchhne . . 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, Lassie 

Here's a Health to them that's awa 

Damon and Sylvia 

My Lady's Gown there's Gairs upon't 

O aye my Wife she dang me 

The Banks of Nith. A Sallad 

Bonnie Peg 

O lay thy Loof in mine, Lass 

O Guid Ale comes 

O why the Deuce. Extempore 

Polly Stewart . . 

Robin Shure in Hairst 

The Five Carlms. An Election Ballad 

The Deuks dang o'er my Daddie 

The Lass that made the Bed to me 

The Union 

There was a Bonnie Lass . . 

My Harry was a Gallant gay 

The Hermit 

Tibbie Dunbar . . 

Wee Willie 

Craigie-Bum Wood 

Here's his Health in Water 

As down th« Bum they took their Way 



CONTENTS. 

IcMGS, eontmued. 

Lady Onlie . . . 

As I was a wandering . . 

Bannocks o' Barley 

Our Thrissles flourished fresh and fair 

Peg-a-Ramsey 

Come Boat me o'er to Charlie 

Braw Lads of Galla Water 

Coming through the Rye 

The Lass of Ecclefechan 

Had I the Wyte 

Hee Balou 

Her Daddie forbad 

Here's to thy Healih, my Bonnie Lass 

Hey, the Dusty Mfller 

The cardin' o't . , 

The Joyful Widower 

Theniel Menzie's Bonnie Mary 

The Farewell 

It is na, Jean, thy Bonnie Face 

Jamie, come try me 

Landlady, count the Lawin 

My Love she's but a Lassie yet 

My Heart was ance , . 

Lovely Davies . . 

Kemnure's on and awa 

The Captain's Lady 

Lady Mary-Ann 

The Highland Widow's Lament 

Merry hae I been teethin' a Heckle 

Rattlin', Roarin' Willie . . 

O Mall/s meek, Mally's sweet 

Sae far awa . . . . 

O steer her up . . 

O, whare did ye get . . 

The F6te Champfetre . . 

Simmer's a pleasant Time 

The Blude-red Rose at Yule may blaw 

The Highland Laddie 

The Cooper o' Cuddio 



<x CONTENTS. 

Bongs, continued. pagb 

The Tailor . . . , . . . . . . . . 838 

Nithsdale's Welcome Hame . . . . . . , . 9^8 

The tither Mora . . . . . . . . . . 938 

The Carle of Kellyburn Braes . . . . . . . • 239 

There was a Lass . . . . . • . . . . 840 

The Ploughman . . , . .". . . . . 240 

The Carles of Dysart . . -, . . . . . . . 941 

Weary fti' you, Duncan Gray . . . . . . • • 241 

My Hoggie . . . . '. . . . , . . . 341 

Where hae ye been .. .. .. .. .. 94a 

Cock up your Beaver . . . . . . . . . . 942 

The Heron Ballads . . . . . . . . . . 94^ 

The Election . . . . . . . . . . . . 94? 

An excellent New Song . . . . . . . . . . 944 

YeSonsofOldKiUie .. .. .. .. ..244 

Ye Jacobites by Name . . . . , , . . » . 245 

Song — ^Ah, Chloris • . . . . . . , . . 245 

Extempore Answer to an Invitation .. .. .. ..94 s 

Katharine Jaifr^y . . . . . . . . , . 246 

The Collier Laddie . . . . . . . . . . 246 

When I think on those Happy Days . . . . . . 246 

Eppie M'Nab . . . . . . . . . . . . £46 

To Chloris .. .. .. .. .. ..247 

An' O ! my Eppie . . . . . . . . • • 947 

Gudee'n to you, Kimmer . . . . . , , . 347 

O wat ye wha that lo'es me .. ., ,. .. 947 

There's News, Lasses . . . . . . . . . . 348 

O that I had ne'er been Married . . . . . . . . 248 

Frae the Friends and Land I love . . , . . . . . 948 

Scroggam . . . . . . . . . . • •* 949 

The Tears I shed . . . . . . . . . . 949 

The Twa Herds . . . . . . . . . . S49 

B^IGRAMS, Epitaphs, &c. : — 

Holy Willie's Prayer, an Epigrammatic Satire . . » ■ ' m^ 951 

Epitaph on Holy Willie .. .. ,. .. ,* 959 

Lines written Extempore in a Lady's Pocket-Book . . . . 953 

Verses addressed to J. Rankine . . . . . . • * 'SI 



CONTENTS. XX 

FproRAMS, Epitaphs, &c., continued. vsoti 

On scaring some Water Fowl in Loch-Turit, a wild scene amnng the 



Hills of Ochtertyre . . 

A Toast 

Epigram . . . . . . 

Another 

On seeing the Beautiful Seat of Lord Galloway 

On the same . . 

On the same 

To the same, on the Author being tlireatened with his Resentment 

Verses to J. Rankine 

Extemporaneous Effusion, on being appointed to the Excise 

On hearing that there was Falsehood in the Rev. Dr B 's very- 
Looks . . 

Poverty 

On a Schoolmaster ia Cleish parish, Fifeshire 

Lines written and presented to Mrs. Kemble, on seeing her in the 
Character of Yarico .. 

Lines written on a Window at the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries 

Lines written on the Window of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries 

Lines written under the Picture of the celebrated Miss Bums 

Epigram on Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's Epigrams 

Epitaph on a Country Laird, not quite so wise as Solomon 

Epitaph on wee Johnny . . . . 

Epitaph on a celebrated ruling Elder 

Epitaph for Robert Aiken, Esq. 

Epitaph for Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 

Epitaph on my Father 

Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline 

Epitaph on John Bushby, Writer in Dumfries 

A Bard's Epitaph 



Gt.OSSABV . . . . . . . . 

Index to thb Poems, Epigrams, akd Songs 
Ihcbx to the First Links ..^ 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 



ROBERT BURNS. 



Upon a winter day of, 1786-7, the boy Jefirey stopped in the High-stjiset ol 
Bdmburgh to stare at a man whose appearance greatly struck him. A shot>- 
keeper, standing at his door and observing the boy's look of wonder, tapped him 
on the shoulder, saying, "Aye, laddie, ye may weel look at that man — he is 
Robert Bums," Since that day, admiration has shown itself in every shape, the 
most touching and the most grotesque, from the panegyric of Wordsworth to the 
phrensy of Wilson, rolling himself on the spot where " Tarn O'Shanter " was 
composed. 

Robert Bums was born January 2Sth, 1739, the eldest child of William and 
Agnes Bums, or Bumess, as they were accustomed to spell the name. His 
father, baihff and gardener of a country gentleman, Mr. Ferguson, rented a few 
acres of land, on which he had built a small hovel of clay and straw. It stood by 
the roadside, a Scotch mile and a hah" from the town of Ayr, and near the famous 
Alloway Kirk, Robert was sent to school before his sixth year, and soon found 
a zealous instructor in John Murdoch, who was chosen, a few months afterwards, 
lO replace the former teacher. We are told by Gilbert Bums, that his brother 
greatly benefited by the lessons in grammar, and became " remarkable for the 
Suency and correctness of his expressions." He read the few books that came in 
lis way with much pleasure and improvement. Murdoch's library was not rich, 
but it contained a " Life of Hannibal," which gave to the ideas of Bums such 9 
military turn that he used to strut up and down after the recruiting dnun and 
bagpipe, and wish himself tall enough to be a soldier. The warUke ardour wa* 
heightened, when, later in youth, he borrowed the story of Wallace from the 
Macksmith, and walked half-a-dozen miles, 0% a summer day, "to pay his respect* 



"xiv LIFE AND WRITINGS 

to Legten Wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Lof etto.* 
la truth, we might say w* him, in poet's words, — 

"He had small need of books ; for many a tale, 
Traditionary, round the mountains hung. 
And many a legend, peopling the dark woods. 
Nourished Imagination in her growth. 
And gave the mind that apprehensive power. 
By which she is made quick to recognize 
The moral properties and scope of things." 

Bums tells us, in his delightful " Confessions" — " In my infant and b«yisll 
days, too, I owed much to an old woman who resided in the family, remarkabla 
for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest col- 
lection in the country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownie*, 
witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated 
the latent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to 
this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious 
places ; and though nobody can be more sceptical than I am in such matters, yet 
it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. The earliest 
composition that I recollect taking pleasure in, was ' The Vision of Mirza,' and 
« hymn of Addison's, beginning, ' How are thj' servants blest, O Lord !' I par- 
ticularly remember one half-stanza which was music to my boyish ears: — 

' For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave — .' " 

His memory was strong, and, when he was in Edinburgh, he repeated to Mr. 
Stewart some long ballads in the Scottish dialect which, in childhood, he had learned 
from his mother. And thus, though he " cost the schoolmaster some thrashings," he 
grew up an excellent English scholar, and by the time that he was ten or eleven 
-ears old, he had obtained a critical acquaintance with substantives, verbs, and 
participles; nor was he without robuster training, for in the first season that ho 
held the plough, "h(e made a shift" to unravel "EucUd" by his father's hearth. 

When the period drew nigh that the boy, in his own strong words, must have 
marched off to be one of the little imderlings about a farm-house, William Bums 
ventured upon a speculation, wliich, he hoped, might enable him to Iwep his chil- 
dren at home longer. His employer had a farm. Mount Oliphant, comprising 
•ignty or ninety English acres, and he accepted William Bums as th*- tenant, at a 
?Bnt, for the first six years, of forty pounds ; moreover, he assisted till «ftf OMtef 



OF ROBER T BUR NS. xx v 

)o provide the necessary stock. The family went to their new aoi/de, Whitsuntide, 
J766. William Bums was a well-informed and thoughtful man, and turned th« 
lonely life of his children to good account. In the winter evenings he taught 
arithmetic and geography to the boys, and procured from a book society in Ayr, the 
works of Derham and Ray upon the Wisdom and Power of God. Batter books 
he could scarcely have found ; and Gilbert assures us that his brother read them 
with eagerness. Stackhouse's " History of the Bible" was also a treasure, for its 
uiformation is large and curious. A fortunate accident increased his wealth : a 
(velation wanting to purchase a '' Complete Letter Writer," the shopman, by 
tiistake, as Gilbert tells us, produced " A small Collection of Letters, by the most 
eminent Writers, with a few sensible Directions for attaining an easy Epistolary 
Style.*" He adds — " This book was to Robert of the greatest consequence." 

Between his thirteenth and fourteenth years, the poet's handwriting was much 
improved by a few lessons in the parish school of Dalrymple ; and about the same 
time "a bookish acquaintance" of their father obtained for the brothers " a read- 
ing of two volumes of Richardson's ' Pamela ; ' " and Murdoch, then the teacher of 
English in Ayr, sent the works of Pope. Gilbert writes : — "The summer after 
we had been at Dalrymple school, my father sent Robert to Ayr to revise his 
English grammar with his former teacher. He had been there only one week, 
when he was obliged to return, to assist at the harvest. When the harvest was 
over he went back to school, where he remained two weeks ; and this completes 
the account of his school education, except one grammar quarter some time after- 
wards, that he attended the parish school of Kirk Oswald (where he lived with a 
brother of my mother) to learn surveying." Murdock happened to be learning 
French, and he generously imparted his knowledge to his pupil, who entered on 
the study with such zeal, that in the second week he assaulted " Telemachus." 
" But now," in the swelling language of the pedagogue, " the plains of Mount 
Oliphant began to whiten, and Robert was summoned to relinquish the pleasing 
scenes that surrounded the grotto of Calypso." He took back with him a French 
grammar, and the beautiful tale of F6n61on ; and, in a little time, by the help of 
these books, he was able to read and understand any French authors who fell in 
his way. An attack upon Latin was not equally successful ; his perseverance 
seldom outlasting a week, and the study being regarded as a sort of penance, 01 
refuge in ill-humour. He used it for a cold-bath. This, writes the Ettrick Shep- 
herd with pleasant confidence, is exceedingly good, and rates the Latin much as I 
have always estimated it. EngUsh Uterature, however, retained its full charm, 
ind the love was nurtured by the kindness of a widow lady, Mrs. Paterson, wh« 
lent Pope's translation of Homer, and the " Spectator," to the youthful student. 

Mciint Oliphant wanted every gleam to cheer it. The parish contained n« 
%nn so intractable ; the soil being almost the poorest to be found under the plough 



«vi i,jpE AND WRITINGS 

On the part of Jie family, no effort was wanting. Every membet of it taxed hit 
»trengtli to the utmost. Robert was the principal labourer, Gilbert diiving th« 
plough, and hjlping him to thrash the com. The food of the hermit was indoon 
as well as the gloom, butcher's meat being quite unknown. 

In this dreary weather Bums reached his sixteenth year, toiling and sad* 
\earted, untu in the harvest-field Love found him. He relates his first passion : 
)—" You know our country custom of coupling a man and woman together ai 
partners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was a 
bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies 
me the power of doing her justice in that language ; but you know the Scottish 
idiom — she was a bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly 
to herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid disappoint- 
ment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of 
human joys, our dearest blessing here below ! How she caught the contagion I 
cannot tell : you medical people talk much of infection from breathing the same 
air, the touch, &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not 
know myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when retuming in the 
evening from our labours ; why the tones of her voice made my heart-strings 
thrill like an iEolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a furious 
rattan when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the cruel nettle- 
stings and thistles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly ; 
and it was her favourite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in 
rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make verses hke 
printed ones composed by men who had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a 
song, which was said to be composed by a small country laird's son, on one of his 
father's maids, with whom he was in love ! and I saw no reason why I might not 
rhyme as well as he ; for, excepting that he could smear sheep, and cast peats, his 
father living in the moor-lands, he had no more scholar-craft than myself." 

And here I am reminded of that sweet passage in Virgil, which Mr. Rogers 
thought so true to nature, that he must have drawn it from early recollections : — 
"You were little when I first saw you. You were with your mother, gathering 
fruit in our orchard, and I was your guide. I was entering my thirteenth yesfg 
and just able to reach the boughs from the ground." 

At the end of six years, William Bums endeavoured to find a farm of happier 
p'omise, but he sought it in vain, and, continuing his anxious toils through fivo 
years, he removed, Whitsuntide, 1777, to the larger farm of Lochlea, in the parish 
of Tarboltoa, There the first four years passed in comfort, until the want of 
R written agreement involved the landlord and the tenant in legal disputes ; an<i 
iuring the long period of three years, William Bums was "tossing and tfhirlinn 
te the vortex." 



OF ROBER T BURNS. ixvr 

T^e little chapter of Ljchlea includes some important passages in the sliry o( 
Bums : for there his good and had blossoms began to set with large promise of 
\wX. Although he confesses himself to have been the most ungainly lad in the 
parish, his mind was growing into shape. He was familiar with the " Spectator," 
and he carried a collection of songs in all his field-work, poring over them as ho 
drove his cart. Slowly, too, the outward man improved, and a spreading rumouir 
of his " book-knowledge" made him a welcome guest. But his chief fame was o( 
another kind Tarbolton was not less amorous than other country places in 
Scotland, and Robert became the confidant of the parish. He informs us that 
his curiosity, zeal, and dexterous boldness recommended him for a comrade in 
every love adventure ; and that the secrets of Tarbolton hearts were as gratifying 
to him as the intrigues of Europe are to the statesman. 

In an evil hour Bums turned flaxdresser, in the small town of Irvine, where he 
rented a room at a shilling a week. His health and his spirits seem to have been 
much disordered at this time. He speaks of his sleep as a little sotinder, although 
the weakness of Jiis nerves troubled his whole body at the least anxiety and alarm. 
He despairs of making a figure in the world ; "being neither formed for the bustle 
of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay ;" and when he "glimmered" a little into 
the future, the only prospect w£is poverty and contempt. In the midst of these 
doubts and fears, the flax business was brought to a sudden close ; for while he 
was giving a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took fire, and Bums 
found himself among the ashes, and, like a true poet, without a sixpence. His 
Uioral loss at Ayr had, probably, been larger than his commercial ; for in a young 
man, whom an American privateer had lately stripped and set ashore, he met a 
companion and a tempter whose practice appears to have kept up with his 
theory. Meanwhile, blacker shadows gathered roimd the homestead of Lochlea. 
For two years the strength of the old man had been going, and just as the horrors 
of a jail were full in view, a consumption " kindly stepped in " and carried him 
avray, Febraary 13, 1784. Robert and Gilbert had made some preparation fof 
the support of the family, when their father's affairs drew near a crisis, by taking 
a neighbouring farm, Mossgiel, which was held in tack, of the Earl of Loudon, 
by that Mr. Gavin Hamilton whose name is lastingly united to the poet's. The 
farm contained one hundred and eighteen acres, and the rent was fixed at ninet-J 
pounds. We learn the particulars from Gilbert : — 

" It was stocked by the property and individual savings of the whole family, 
and was a joint concern among us. Every member of the family was allowed 
ordinary wages for the labour he performed on the farm. My brother's allowance 
and mine was seven pounds per annum each And during the whole time this 
family concern lasted, ivhich was fjur years, as well as during the preceding period 
»t Lochlea. his expenses never in an> one year exceeded his slender income. Hit 



vxviii LIFE AND WRITINGS 

temperance and frugality were everything that could be wished." But dark« 
scenes were coming. 

There lived in Mauchline a master stone-mason, James Armour, who had % 
black-eyed daughter, Jean, ranking high among the six belles of the village. It 
fell out on A certain day, that the poet's dog ran over the clothes which Jean 
Armour was spreading on the grass, and she flung a stone at the trespasser. Tha 
old proverb rose to the tongue of Burns, and the love-story began. It fills a me- 
lancholy page in the lives of the man and the woman. They sinned, and they 
suffered. A meeting of the lovers ended in a gift by Burns to Jean of a writteo 
promise, which Scottish law accepts as legal evidence of an "irregular" union. 
The marriage was not to be disclosed until the last moment, and when it came, 
the stone-mason showed himself less indulgent than the law. His indignation 
was great ; and overpowered by the anger and the grief of her father, Jean de- 
stroyed the document, or permitted him to bum it. Under circumstances so af- 
flicting, she became the mother of twins, for the charge of whose maintenance 
security was demanded of Burns. James Armour proved to be violent and relent- 
less, with a view, it is conjectured, of driving Burns from the country, and setting 
his daughter free. If he had the design, it was almost fulfilled. Several Scotch- 
men were at that time engaged as assistant overseers in the West India Planta- 
tions. The salary was small, and the disagreeable nature of the occupation may 
be imagined. But it offered shelter to Burns, and he obtained an appointment in 
Jamaica, engaging himself to Dr. Douglas, of Port Antonio, for three years, at a 
salary of thirty pounds. To pay for his passage, he resolved to publish his 
■'Poems." They had grown up, silently and sweetly, lilce the wild-flowers in the 
fields. The Daisy under the Plough — the Mouse driven from her nest — the 
Winter-dirge — the Cotter's Saturday Night — The Vision — and other pieces, seemed 
to steal upon his fancy, in its warm spring weather, with the bloom and freshness 
of opening life. The Muse had walked by his plough, and cheered and illuminated 
him. Even the coal-cart was sometimes hallowed by song. Lochlea is rich in 
these poetic remembrances, but Mossgiel excels it. Lately, perhaps now, you 
might see the "fngle," and the "spence," with its boarded-floor, and the recess-bedy 
so common in Scotland, where he composed some of his most pathetic and humor- 
ous pieces. A small deal table was also pointed out. At the beginning of April, 
1786, Burns sent his "Proposals" to the press of John Wilson, in Kilmarnock. 
In the mean time, he underwent a less agreeable form of publication in the parish 
kirk, by the tongue of Mr. Auld. A certificate of Bachelordora was the reward 
3f the exposure. On June 12th, he communicated to a Glasgow acquaintance the 
news of his literary progress : — " You will have heard that I am going to com- 
mence poet in print ; to-nv^row my works go to the press. I expect it will be 
\ volume of about two hundred pages. It is just the last foolish action I intend 



OF ROBERT BURNS, xx 

n dc, and then turn a wise man as last as possible." His story of the enterprise 
is extremely interesting : — 

" I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power : I thought they 
had merit ; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even 
though it should never reach my ears — a poor negro driver, or perhaps a victim to 
that inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
pauvre inconn-u as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and 
of my works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their favour. 
It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and re- 
ligious point of \iew, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their 
ignorance of themselves. — To know myself, had been all along my constant study. 
I weighed myself alone ; I balanced myself with others ; I watched every means 
of information, to see how much ground I occupied as a man and a poet ; I studied 
(Assiduously Nature's design in my formation — where the lights and shades in my 
character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet with some 
applause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of 
censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw 
off six hundred copies, of which I had got subscriptions for about three hundred 
and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the 
public ; and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. 
This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want 
of money to procure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the 
price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship 
that was to sail from the Clyde ; for 

' Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' 

" I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors 
of a jail ; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law 
at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends ; my chest was on 
the road to Greenock ; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in 
Caledonia, ' The gloomy Night is gathering fast,' when a letter from Dr. Black- 
lock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to 
my poetic ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I 
had not dared to hope. His opinion that I would meet with encouragement ia 
Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so iKuch, that away I posted for that 
city, T-ithout a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. The bane- 
fal st?T, that had so long shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once mads 
a revdution to the nadir ; and a kind Providence placed me under the patranfig» 
rf Oflf of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencaim." 



"^^ LIFE AND WKJTINGS 

The " Poems" appeared in July, 1786, at the price of three sliillings ; a digni 
fied preface opened the volume : — 

" The following trifles are not the production of the poet who, with all the advan* 
bges of learned art, and, perhaps, amid the elegancies and idlenesses of upper life, 
ooks down for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the author 
•f this, these and other celebrated names their countrymen are, at least in theil 
original language, a fountain shut up, and a hook sealed. Unacquainted with 
the necessary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he sings the sentiments and 
niannera he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him, in his and 
their native language. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at least from the 
earliest impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very lately that the applause, 
perhaps the partiality, of friendship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him 
think anything of his worth showing ; and none of the following works were ever 
composed with a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little creations of 
his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious hfe ; to transcribe the 
various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopos, the fears, in his own breast ; to 
find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles if a world, always an alien scene, 
a task uncouth to the poetical mind; — these ware his motives for courting the 
Muses, and in these he found Poetry to be its own reward. 

"Now that he appears in the public character of an author, he does it with feai 
and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, 
nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as ' an impertinent 
blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; and, because he can make a shift 
to jingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon himself as a poet rf 
no small consequence forsooth ! ' 

" It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shenstone, whose divine elegies do 
honour to our language, our nation, and our species, that ' humility has depressed 
many a genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame ! ' If any critic catches 
at the word genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon 
himself as possessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner 
he has done would be a manoeuvre below the worst character which, he hopes, his 
worst enemy will ever give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious 
dawnings of the poor unfortimate Ferguson, he, with equal unaffected sincerity,, 
declares, that even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pre- 
tensions. These two justly admired Scotch poets he has often had in his eye 
Ja the following pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their flame, than for 
lervile imitation. 

" To his subscribers the Author returns his most sincere thanks ; not the mercen- 
«ry bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the Bard, coMcioiH 



OP ROBER T B URNS. xxxi 

kow Diuch he is indebted to benevolence and friendship, for gratifying him, if ho 
deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom — to be distinguished. Ho 
begs his readers, particularly the learned and the polite, who may honour him with 
a perusal, that they will make every allowance for education and circumstances of 
fife ; but if, after a fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted 
of dulness and nonsense, let him be done by as he would in that case do by others 
—let him be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion." 

"The Cotter's Saturday Night" was the gem of the collection, and did for the 
■*riter what the " Elegy " had done for Gray — it made him famous. When Gil- 
pin, in 1789, published his " Observations on the Highlands," he described the 
pleasing simplicity of country life, the small Erse Bible which was the Highlander's 
usual companion, the mother spinning or knitting, and the children standing round 
her reading God's Book, or repeating the " Catechism ; " and by way of illustrat- 
ing his description, he quoted the poem of Burns — "a Bard, as he calls himselfi 
from the plough," — and pronounced " the whole to be equal to any praise." Gil- 
bert gives a touching anecdote of the composition : — 

" Robert had frequently remarked to me that he thought there was something 
peculiarly venerable in the phrase, ' Let us worship God,' used by a decent sober 
head of a family introducing family worship. To this sentiment of the Author the 
world is indebted for the ' Cotter's Saturday Night.' The hint of the plan, and 
title of the poem, were taken from Ferguson's ' Farmer's Ingle.' When Robert 
had not some pleasure in view in which I was not thought fit to participate, we 
used frequently to walk together when the weather was favourable on the Sunday 
afternoons (those precious breathing-times to the labouring part of the community), 
and enjoyed such Sundays as would make one regret to see their number abridged. 
It was in one of these walks that I first had the pleasure of hearing the author re- 
peat the ' Cotter's Saturday Night.' I do not recollect to have read or heard 
»ny thing by which I was more highly ekctrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas 
and the eighteenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through my soul. I mention this 
to you, that you may see what hit the taste of unlettered criticism." 

The edition of the " Poems " was exhausted in a month by the subscribers and 
the public. Wherever the book came, it was admired. Farm-servants spent theii 
wages to get it ; and educated readers turned an eye of interest upon the writer. 
Among these were Dugald Stewart and Mrs. Dunlop, who continued to the end 
of his life to be true and generous friends. A new issue of his " Poems " was now 
luggeited to him, as likely to increase the comforts of his voyage ; but th« Kil- 
marnock printer required the cost of the paper to be advanced, and Bums had nc 
money for the purpose, though friends were not unwilling to provide it. 



ixxii LIPE AND WRITINGS 

To this period belongs a romantic incident in the poet's life : h»w ^rting with 
Mary Campbell, the dairymaid of Colonel Montgomery, and the Highland Mary 
of Poetry. All traditiofi describes her as a gentle-hearted, loving creature, willing 
to trust her happiness to an eloquent and daring admirer. I apprehend that, 
in some particulars, the biographers of Bums have been warmed by his raptures. 
His own narrative is sufficient for my purpose : — " After a pretty long trial of the 
most ardent, reciprrcal affection, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of 
May, in a sequesteied spot on the banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in talc 
ing a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange icst- 
ters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of the autunm 
following, she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed 
vhen she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave 
■ji a few days, before I could even learn of her illness." The Bible over whicn the 
iovers uttered their vows, and a tress of Mary's long, shining hair, are still pre- 
served. Let me not be deemed unkind to Bums, if I remember that while he was 
thus pledging himself with such solemnity of circumstance to a Mary, a Jean was 
rueing the day that she met him in the house of her sorrowful parents. 

A- circumstance, which his letter has already told, rendered pecuniary helf 
unnecessary. Bums was acquainted with Dr. Laurie, minister of Loudoun, and 
that gentleman sent a copy of the " Poems" to Dr. Blacklock, with a slight out- 
line of the Poet's life. The amiable scholar was delighted by the pathos, the 
grace, and the humour of the volume, and strongly urged the immediate prepar- 
ation of an enlarged impression. I'he pleasure of the Poet was equal to his 
critic's ; and he exchanged the voyage to Jamaica for the road to Edinburgh. 
He arrived in that city November 28, 1786. Dugald Stewart had already awakened 
some interest in his behalf by reading his poems, and speaking of his struggles, to 
several friends, and to Henry Mackenzie among the number. We have the Pro- 
fessor's sketch of the Ayrshire Ploughman, as he appeared in the Scottish metro- 
polis. His dress was plain, but neat. Walter Scott, recalling the vision of his 
.sixteenth year, said that he should have taken the poet for a very sagacious 
country farmer of the old school — "the douce gudeman who held his own 
plough ! " 

Very surprising must have been the change from the playground of Nature to 
the school of Art. A more striking group of scholars and men of taste might not 
•je found. There was the good and blind son of the bricklayer, whom Johnson 
hailed at Sir William Forbes's breakfast-table with the tender welcome, " Dear 
Dr. Blacklock, I am glad to see you." There was Blair, the beau, the novel- 
reader, the popular preacher, and the vainest man of '-u lime. There was 
Robertson, neither brilliant nor fruitful in talk, but ple?*9«f* pV V"i^r"0*v ai>d 
•raisin"' the o-enerous claret. There was Adara Fergusscti, •»\ut ►^^(k n^<|» m> 



OP ROBERJ BURNS. xxxih 

vigorous, into his ninety-third year. There was Mackenzie, tiie gayest of the 
fay, collecting his rhymes on the edge of the grave, and turning out for a coursing. 
Uatdb with a white hat, green spectacles, and a dog-whistle round his neck. 
There was Alison, the elegant and the refined. There was Monboddo, enunci- 
Kting his great axiom that everything was possible, and contemplating the birth 
of a conversable ourang-outang. But especially eminent and beloved above all 
Ihe band was " the plain, honest, worthy man, the Professor," Dugald Stewart, 
uxhibiting to the admiration of his rustic friend the blended virtues of " Socrates, 
Nathanael, and Shakspeare." One distinguished member of Edinburgh society 
was absent. Adam Smith had just gone to London, when Bums received as 
introductory letter. We may imagine the delight with which the painter of " Tht 
Holy Fair " would have watched the Doctor hovering round the sugar-basin, anc" 
continually carrying off a fresh lump from the bewildered spmster who presided 
Jn this brave company of philosophers and critics, the peasant held up his head 
He fought them with weapons sharper than their own, and supplied his wai.t Ok 
science, or learning, by a various fancy and a glow of language which amazed the 
icholars, and lifted the beautiful Duchess of Gordon off her fefet. Nor was Edin- 
burgh less attractive than its inhabitants. Bums surveyed it with a poet's eye. 
Arthur's Seat was a favourite haunt, and the cottage smoke, going up into the 
clear blue sky of morning, awoke in him home-thoughts more tender than poetry. 
But the great city is not always a safe home for the moralist — never for a poet. 
We are assured by one, who was darkly stained by its vices, that Burns did not 
escape the corruption of evil companionship. His Edinburgh Ufe took a downward 
turn from the period when he exchanged his share of a garret in Baxter's-close 
and the socie>y of John Richmond, a lawyers clerk, for the more luxurious dwell- 
in? of William Nicol, a teacher in the High School — a clever and noisy admirer, 
who was at the same time a scoffer and a drunkard. We cannot read this chapter 
in the story of Bums without remembering the intemperance and the swagger 
of Savage. 

At the beginning of April, 1787, the second edition of his poems issued from 
the shop of Creech. Lord Glencairn and the Dean of the Faculty had taken him 
tmder their wing, and the Caledonian Hunt subscribed in a body. To his learned 
acquaintances he had recently added Dr. John Moore, formerly a surgeon in 
Glasgow, afterwards the travelling companion of the Duke of Hamilton, and 
then settled in London as a physician. The story of "Zeluco" had won a name, 
and Burns regarded the author with a sort of mysterious reverence. In a lettei 
to Moore, April 23, 1787, he gives his view of a town life or its learned side : — " 1 
Vaive Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight. I shall return to my 
a, u all likelihood aevei more t) qiut them. I have formed many 



f^xxiy LIFE AND WRITINGS 

intimacies and fiiendships here ; but I am afraid they are all of too tender a ca» 
struction to bear carriage a hundred and fifty miles." 

He had long cherished the desire of making leisurely pilgrimages to the batti* 
fields, the romantic rivers, and the ruined castles of his country ; and his longing 
was at last in some measure to be gratified in the season most dear to hii 
fancy — 

"When rosy May comes in wi' flowers." 

On the 6th of that month, having one companion, Mr. Robert Ainslie, he 
made a hasty excursion into the southern districts, in which Beattie discovered 
the Arcadia of Scotland, being distinguished by green hills, clear flowing streams, 
scattered or clustering trees, and especially by its songs, " sweetly expressive of 
love and tenderness, and tht other emotions suited to the tranquillity of pastoral 
life." 

In three weeks. Bums visited the most interesting scenes. At Jedburgh, where 
orchards and gardens were mingled with the ruins of a Stately cathedral, he 
received the freedom of the borough ; the glorious Melrose and the old abbey <rf 
Dryburgh affected him greatly, and he carried away in his memory the sound 
and the colour of 

" Ettrick banks now roaring red." 

From Arcadia, he passed into Northumberland, and visited the noble castle ol 
the duke, and the hermitage of Warkworth. 

Bums returned to Mossgiel in June (8th), 1787, and his biographers have 
noticed the affecting circumstances under which he revisited his home. Several 
months were gone since he quitted it, a poor and desperate man ; he came back 
enriched and honoured ; and, in the affectionate welcome of his kindred, he might 
discover a recompense for the glare and the flattery which he had left. He did 
not, however, long continue under the old roof, but made a fresh expedition into 
the Highlands, and rejoined his family in July. August found him again in 
Edinburgh, arranging a third tovu- with Mr. Adair, of Harrowgate, to whom we 
owe a slight sketch of the journey :— 

" Bums and I left Edinburgh together in August, 1787. We rode by Linlithgow 
«jid Carron, to Stirling. We visited the iron-works at Carron, with which the poet 
was forcibly stmck. The resemblance between that place, and its inhabitants, to- 
the cave of Cyclops, which must have occurred to every classical visitor, presented 
itself to Biuns. At Stirling the prospects from the castle strongly interested him ; 
in a former visit to which, his national feelings had been powerfully excite^ 
fcy the ruinous and roofless state of the hall in which the Scottish Parliament* 
Md frequently been held. His indignation had vented itself in some imprudeni 



OP ROBERT BURNS. xxj 

»ut not unpoetical lines, which had given much offence, and which he tock thii 
•pportunity of erasing, by breaking the pane of the window at the inn on whidi 
fcey were written. 

"At Stirling we met with a company of travellers from Edinburgh, among whom 
was a character in many respects congenial with that of Bums. This was Nicol, 
one of the teachers of the High Grammar School at Edinburgh : the same ^vit 
aad power of conversation ; tt? same fondness for convivial society, and thought- 
hssness of to-morrow, characterized both. Jacobitical principles in politics were 
common to both of them ; and these have been suspected, since the Revolution of 
France, to have given place in each to opinions apparently opposite. I regret 
that I have preserved no memorabilia of their conversation, either on this or oB 
other occasions, when I happened to meet them together. Many songs wsre 
sung ; which I mention for the sake of observing, that when Burns was called on 
in his turn, he was accustomed, instead of singing, to recite one or other of his 
shorte:' poems, with a tone and emphasis which, though not correct or harmonious 
were impressive and pathetic. This he did on the present occasion. 

" From Stirling we went next morning through the romantic and fertile vale of 
Devon to Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by Mrs. Hamilton, 
with the younger part of whose family Burns had been previously acquainted. 
He introduced me to the family, and there was formed my first acquaintance with 
Mrs. Hamilton's eldest daughter, to whom I have been married for nine years. 
Thus was I indebted to Bums for a connection from which I have derived, and 
sxpect further to derive, much happiness. 

" During a residence of about ten days at Harvieston, we made excursions to 
»isit various parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior to none in Scotland, in 
beauty, sublimity, and romantic interest ; particularly Castle Campbell, the 
ancient seat of the family of Argyle ; and the famous cataract of the Devon, called 
the ' Cauldron Linn ;" and the " Rumbling Bridge," a single broad arch, thrown 
by the Devil, if tradition is to be believed, across the river, at about the height of a 
hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised that none of these scenes should have 
called forth an exertion of Buras's muse. But I doubt if he had much taste for the 
picturesque. I well remember, that the ladies at Harvieston, who accompanied us 
on this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at his not expressing, in more glow- 
ing and fervid language, his impressions of the " Cauldron Linn" scene, certainly 
highly sublime, and somewhat horrible. 

"A visit to Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, a lady above ninety, the lineal descend- 
tnt of that race which gave the Scottish throne its brightest ornament, interested 
Ws feelings more powerfully. This venerable dame, with characteristical dignity, 
Jiformed me, on mj observing thai I beaeved she was descended from the family 
»» Robert Brucq that Robert Bruce was sprung from her family. Though 



»xxvi LIFE AND WRITINGS 

dinnst deprived of speech by a paralytic affection, she preserved her hospitaht) 
and urbanity. She was in possession of the hero's helmet and two-handed sword, 
with which she conferred on Bums and myself the honour of knighthood, remark' 

mg, that she had a better right to confer that title than some people You 

will cf course conclude that the old lady's political tenets were as Jacobitical as 
the poet's, — a conformity which contributed not a little to the cordiality of our 
reception and entertainment. She gave as her first toast after dinner, Awa, 
Uncos, or. Away with the Strangers. — Who those strangers were you will readily 
understand. Mrs. A. corrects me by saying it should be Hooi, or Hoohi jtncos, a 
sound used by shepherds to direct their dogs to drive away the sheep. 

" We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the shore of Lochleven) and Queenie- 
ferry. I am inclined to think Bums knew nothing of poor Michael Bruce, who 
was then alive at Kinross, or had died there a short while before. A meeting 
between the bards, or a visit to the deserted cottage and early grave of pool 
Bruce, would have been highly interesting. 

"At Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey, and the abbey church, new con- 
secrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted the cutty stool, or stool o 
repentance, while Burns from the pulpit addressed to me a ludicrous reproof and 
exhortation, parodied from that which had been dehvered to himself in Ayrshire, 
where he had, as he assured me, once been one of seven who mounted the seat of 
skame together. 

" In the churchyard, two broad flagstones marked the grave of Robert Bruce, 
for whose memory Bums had more than common veneration. He knelt and kissed 
the stone with sacred fervour, and heartily (sTttts ut mos erai] execrated the worse 
than Gothic neglect of the first of Scottish heroes." 

He had no sooner ended his third pilgrimage, than he began another, and a 
more extensive, in the company of his friend Mr. Nicol. The travellers, leaving 
Edinburgh, August 25, 1787, pursued their way into the heart of the Highlands, 
End, stretching northward, about ten miles beyond Inverness, took an easterly 
course over the island, and returned by the shore of the German Sea to Edinburgh, 
Bums anticipated and found much entertainment in the original humour of hij 
compamoa. But the ill qualities of Nicol tarnished the good. His manners were 
joarser than his person, and the " strong in-kneed sort of a soul," which his 
friend attributed to him, seems to have gained its vigour by the loss of gentleness, 
Tot his temper was fierce and ungoverned. 

But to Burns the tour brought pleasant fruit. Athole House was a cherished 
l^membrance. The gloom of evening hung over the landscape, when Mr. Walker 
*hom he had known at Edinburgh, conducted him through the gromids, and wit- 
nessed the tender enthusiasm with which he gazed on tlw -scenery. " We reste(*v' 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxxvi 

fle sir Vj of ./o.-Jsworth writes, " upon the heather seat which Burns was so lotL 

quit that moonlight evening when he first went to Blair Castle ; and I had a 
jleasura in thinking that he had been under the same shelter, and viewed the 
little waterfall opposite with some of the happy and pure feelings of his betta 
mind." 

Within-doors, the "fine family piece" was not less charming. To Gilbert he 
sent a letter from Edinburgh, September i6, 1787. 

' I arrived here safe yesterday evening, after a tour of twenty-two days, and 
travelling near six hundred miles, windings included. My farthest stretch was 
\bout ten miles beyond Inverness. I went through the heart of the Highlands, 
Vf Crieff, Taymouth, the famous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among 
cascades and druidical circles of stones, to Dunkeld, a seat of the Duke of Athole ; 
thence cross Tay, and up one of his tributary streams to Blair of Athole, another 
■ii the Duke's seats, where I had the honour of spending nearly two days with his 
Grace and family ; thence many miles through a wild country, among cliffs grey 
with eternal snows, and gloomy savage glens, till I crossed Spey and went down 
die stream through Strathspey, so famous in Scottish music, Badenoch, &c., till I 
rsached Grant Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James Grant and family ; 
and then crossed the country for Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, 
the ancient seat of Macbeth ; there I saw the identical bed in which, tradition says. 
King Duncan was murdered : lastly, from Fort George to Inverness. 

" I returned by the coast, through Nairn, Forres, and so on, to Aberdeen ; 
thence to Stonehive, where James Burns, from Montrose, met me by appointment. 
I spent two days among our relations, and found our aunts, Jean and Isabel, still 
alive, and hale old women. John Caird, though bom the same year with our 
father, walks as vigorously as I can ; they have had several letters from his son in 
New York. William Brand is likewise a stout old fellow : but further particulars 
I delay till I see you, which will be in two or three weeks. The rest of my stages 
are not worth rehearsing : warm as I was from Ossian's country, where I had seen 
his very grave, what cared I for fishing towns or fertile carses f I slept at the 
famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined at Gordon Castle next day with 
the Duke, Duchess, and family. 1 am thinking to cause my old mare to meet me, 
by means of John Ronald, at Glasgow ; but you shall hear further from me before 

1 leave Edinburgh. My duty, and many compliments from the north, to my 
sBother, and my brotherly compliments to the rest. I have been trying for a berth 
{k William, out am not likely to be successful. — Farewell." 

Bums was again in Edinburgh during the winter of 1787. He is then supposed 
10 have begun his acquaintance with the lady whom he celebrated under the titla 
tf Oarinda. Her real name was M'Lehose, the wife of a gentleman in the We# 



«xviu LIFE AND WRITINGS 

Indies, aed then residing with her children in Edinburgh. The letJers which 
Bums addressed to her, in the pastoral character of Sylvander, ajs sufficiently 
Rmorous and absurd ; but a devotee, like Clarinda, required no common homage. 
She declared that the admiration of fourscore years would not pay her debt of 
gratitude. Time dealt generously with her in old age ; she Uved near the Calton 
Hill, where Mr. Howitt and his wife visited her, and witnessed a most amusing 
•cene. Clarinda invited her guests to drink out of the glasses which Sylvander 
had presented, and took them from the cupboard, and rang for the servant to 
bring wine. An aged woman answered the call, and hearing that the strangers 
" were to drink out of the glasses which stood ready on the table, she gave a look 
as if sacrilege were going to be committed, took up the glasses without a word, 
replaced them in the cupboard, locking them up, and brought in three ordinary 
glasses. It was in vain for Mrs. M'Lehose to remonstrate ; the old and self-willed 
servant went away without deigning a reply, with the key in her pocket." 

The settlement of his accounts with Creech, February, 1788, placed more than 
five hundred pounds in th<? hands of Bums. He made a noble use of part of the 
money 

His own account to D^ toore — January 4, 1789 — is simple and pleasing : " I 
have a younger brother, who supports my aged mother ; another still younger 
brother, and three sisters, in a farm. On my last return from Edinburgh, it cost 
me about £,\Zo to save them from min. Not that I have lost so much — I only 
interposed between my brother and bis impending fate by the loan of so much. I 
give myself no airs on this, for it was mere selfishness on my part. I was conscious 
that the wrong scale of the balance was pretty heavily charged, and I thought that 
throwing a little filial and fraternal affection into the scale in my favour, might 
help to smooth matters at the grand reckoning ." With the balance of his profits 
he entered upon a farm, belonging to Mr Miller, of Dalswinton. Ellisland was 
pleasantly situated on the banks of the Nith, six miles from Dumfries. The vale 
of the Nith sweeps just below the house, and from the windows the river is seen 
flowing with its swift, dark current, broad as the Thames at Hampton Court. 
Bums began his new life at Whitsuntide, 1788, having previously gone through 
the ceremony of a justice-of-peace marriage with Jean Armour, in the office of hi» 
friend Gavin Hamilton. He considered the head of a wife to be immaterial, in 
romparison of her heart. He spoke from experience. His Jean had a handsom* 
figure, a sweet temper, and reckoned her husband the finest genius in the world. 
Her acquaintance with prose and verse was limited to thi Bible and the Psalms 
but she had studied a certain collection of Scottish songs, and warbled many with 
a delicious wood-note. In later life, the Ettrick Shepherd frequently saw Mrs 
Bumse in the «ld church of Dumfries, and spoke of her as a brunette, MritH &4 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxxix 

poet has said finely, — 

" And there were many strange and sudden lights 
Beckoned him towards them ; they were wrecking lights : 
But he shunned these, and righted when she rose. 
Moon of his life, that ebbed and flowed with hei ! " 

Alas ! that we cannot apply the words to Burns. His wedded life met with diffi" 
culties at the beginning. The hcas.? of Ellisland was a miserable hovtl, open ta 
B'ind and rain, and giving to the occupant the choice of being drenched or suflfo- 
cated. Jean could not come under such a roof, and she remained with the poet'* 
family. But forty miles make a wide gap between husband and wife. Bums set 
himself with all speed to build a better dwelling, and the summer found him busy 
in the field. His resolutions were excellent. " I have all along, hitherto in the 
warfai-e of life, been bred to arms among the light horse — the piquet guards of 
fancy, a kind of hussars and highlanders of the brain ; but I am firmly resolved to 
sell out of these giddy battalions, who have no ideas of a battle, but fighting the 
foe, or of a siege, but storming the town. Cost what it will, I am determined to 
buy in among the grave squadrons of heavy-armed thought, or the artillery corps 
of plodding contrivance." In neither of these regiments did he ever get a com- 
mission. He brought Jean home in November, and for the first time in his life had 
the opportunity of realizing his own picture : — 

" To make a happy fire-side clime. 
To weans and wife — 
That's the true pathos, and sublime 
Of human life." 

Bit low spirits dulled his joys. He calls himself such a coward in the world, and 
so tired of the service, that the desire of his heart was " to lie down in his mother's 
lap and be at peace." We hear him groaning under the miseries of a diseased 
nervous system, and of headaches three weeks in duration. 

It may be feared that the mirth of the Edinburgh tables often rung in his ears. 
Dr. Moore had mentioned the friendliness of husbandry to fancy, while he wished 
for him the prosperous union of the farmer and tho poet. But Bums had neither 
Maecenas for a landlord, nor Horace for a neighlwur. He gives a characteristic 
sketch of his life at "the very elbow" of existence. "The only things," he told 
Mr. Bengo, the engraver, " that are to be found this country in any degree of 
perfection ate stupidity and canting." Prose, he said, they only knew in gracr.s 
«nd sermons, which they valued, like plaiding webs, by the ell ; while a poet and 
» rhinoceros suggested ideas equally distinct and agreeable. It was not always 
<ai-k in Ellisland. His first winter glided happilv by, and golden days of th« 



X 2^/1^ AND WRITINGS 

heart aail ti it f^j often shone, when the father rejoiced in the crowuof the pcet. 
In this farm, by the river-side, he composed his noblest lyric, " To Mary in Hea- 
ven ; " and there, too, the fat and festive Grose came to visit him, and heard (rf 
the wonderful jump of Cutty Sark and the magnificent terrors of Tam. 

Bums had made a bad choice of a farm ; but a momentary sunlight broke 
over it, and the crops rewarded his industry and care. An agricultural friend 
once warned him that however situation, soil, and custom might vary. Farmer 
Attention would be prosperous everywhere. And it is conceivable that even from 
EHisland he might have come in joy, bringing sheaves. But Farmer Attention 
was a stranger undw that roof — more familiar to the wedding feast and the harvest 
dance. The appointment of Bums to the Excise came, to complete the ruin of 
&e husbandman. He owed it to the kindness of a surgeon (Mr. Wood), who got 
his name placed on the list of candidates. His satisfaction is abundantly shown 
in his letters. "I thought," he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, " five-and-thirty pounds a 
year was no bad dernier ressort for a poor poet, if fortune, in her jade tricks, 
should kick him down from the little eminence to which she had lately helped hia 
up." To Miss Chalmers he placed his new office in the same prudential light. 
" I do not find my farm that pennyworth I was taught to expect ; but I believe in 
time it may be a saving bargain. To save me from that hon-id situation of at any 
time going down in a losing bargain of a farm to misery, I have taken my Excise 
instmctions, and have my commission in my pocket for any emergency of fortune. 
And to another lady he remarked — " The question is not at what door of Fortune's 
palace shall we enter in? but, What doors does she open to us?" To his friend 
Ainslie he talked in high spirits : — " I do not know if I have informed you that I 
am now appointed to an excise division, in the middle of which my house and 
farm lie. In this I was extremely lucky, without ever having been an expectant, 
as they call their journeyman exciseman, I was directly planted down, to all in- 
tents and purposes, an officer of excise. Fifty pounds a year for life, and a pro- 
vision for widows and orphans, you will allow, is no bad settlement for a poet." 

Before the close of 1791, Burns relinquished his farm, and being placed, with 
a salary of seventy pounds, in the Dumfries department of Excise he removed 
his family to that town. The situation was not promising. The house stood in a 
narrow street, swarming with tramps ; and the worthy sister of a great poet de- 
scribes its look in the autumn of 1803 : — " It has a mean appearance, whitewashed, 
dirty about the doors, as all Scotch houses are ; the parlour walls were washed 
with blue wash ; on one side of the fire was a mahogany desk, opposite the win- 
iow a clock, and over the desk a print from the " Cotter's Saturday Night." The 
XOMsa was cleanly and neat in the inside ; the stairs of stone scoured whit«, tby 
titchen on the right hand of the passage, the parlour on the left." 



CJ ROBER T B URNS. xli 

•JIj woftVV.vhers of Bums concxir in putting his Dumfries life into shadow. 
" I am just risen," are his own sad words — "from a two hours' bout after sujqjer, 
with silly, or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common with me but tha 
port." Among companions like these he had long been in the habit — to adopt his 
striking phrase — of dividing large slices of his constitution ; but the biggest slices 
were given at Dumfries. Many families from the south of Scotland chose that 
town for their winter residence; and we are told that it abounded in " staf ely 
Toryism," which only served to embitter and aggravate the hostility of the Pi et. 
The freedom of his manners was, at least, equalled by that of his tongue, and his 
epigrams fell thick and fast. One critic is sharp upon the "gentry," because they 
"cut" Burns. This "cutting" is certain. A friend informed Mr. Lockhart, that 
upon a fine summer evening he saw the poet walking alone on the shady side of 
the principal street, while the opposite part was gay with successive groups of 
gentlemen and ladies, all drawn together for the festivities of the night, not one 
of whom appeared willing to recognize him. Assuredly he gave ample opportunity 
to evil-speakers. A single instance will be sufficient. The coasts of Galloway 
and Ayrshire were the haunts of smugglers, whom it was the especial duty of the 
revenue officers to watch and intercept. In the February of 1792, an armed brig 
appearing in the Solway Frith, and getting into shallow water, a party of dragoons 
was brought down, and, led by Burns, dashed up to the brig and captured her. 
At the public sale of the vessel, he bought four guns, which he sent with a flatter- 
ing assurance of his esteem to the French Convention. The gift was stopped at 
Dover, but the folly of the exciseman reachec' the ears of the Board, by whom ha 
was naturally regarded as a person disaffected and dangerous. Scared of a sud- 
den by the vision of a helpless wife, and children turned adrift irto the world, 
Bums opened his grief to Mr. Graham, and found the protection which he asked. 
The displeasure of the Board passed away in a mild and merited censure. Nor 
is there any reason to suppose that his prospects of promotion were blighted by 
the imprudence and will ulness of his conduct. If he became more circumspect in 
his political walk, the w atchfulness did not reach his morals. His most zealous 
apologists only venture to plead that his errors were occasional ; and witnes&a 
are called to speak of his early rising, his punctuality, and his lessons to hk 
children. What is such testimony worth ? That life must be utterly reprobate, 
jf which sin is the narrative, not the episode. In general, the phrensy of vice has 
lucid intervals. Kit Smart was not wheeled home in the barrow on every night. 
There is enough of the wild beast in sin to make it drowsy when it is fed. 

It is the fashion to rebuke any censure of Bums by a reference to passages io 
•1 ich he confesses his guilt, and implores the pity of his brethren. Let the ap' 
peal be welcomed. He has left outpourings of a smirren heart, never to oe rearf 
d 



\i LIFE AND WRITINGS 

vithout sympathy, nor to be remembered except witn prayer. Bui of what An& 
is sorrow which bears no frviit ? Crabbe is believed to have painted Bums in tht 
portrait of Edward Shore : — 

" Griev'd, but not contrite, was his heart ; oppress'd. 
Not broken ; not converted, but distress'd ; 
He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee ; 
He wanted light the cause of ill to see ; 
To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be." 

The picture is a likeness. I do not doubt that in the festival of his riot, or luc 
guilt, the great soul of this wonderful man was shaken by gusts of penitence anj 
fear. A hand on the wall terrified him with the balance ; and dreadfully the scal«a 
went down before his accusing eyes. Very awful is his confession to a friend :'-• 
" Even in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the madness of an intoxicat«<l 
oriminal under the hands of the exerutioner." In such seasons the united Pres- 
bytery had no preacher so eloquent, no prayers so pathetic. The Ettrick Shepherd 
frequently heard one Master Saunders Proudfoot relate a story. There bad been 
R merrymaking at Thornhill Fair, and wine and pimch disappeared with more than 
ordinary swiftness. " By degrees the hale o' the chaps slippit away ane after 
another. But what I fear was his warst fault — he couldna leave the bowl, and I 
was determined not to leave him ; sae we sat on, an' sat on, till after midnight 
»nd then were shown into a bedroom, an' our bowl an' glasses wi' us. I saw be- 
fore this time that Bums had gotten rather mair than enough, an' in order to gar 
bim gi' over, I pretended to be drunk, an' lay down on ane o' the beds with my 
claes on. Bums seemed very ill pleased when I left him, an' looked round and 
round him as rather disappointed ; but he couldna drink by himself, and if he 
took ae glass after I left him that was a'. I watched him weel, an' he grew ex- 
ceedingly impatient, an' then throwing himsel' on his knees, with his face leaning 
on his arms, which were across the chair, he began to pray, and by degrees he 
got into such a fervent supplication for mercy and forgiveness for all his trans- 
gressions, that it was awfu', it was dreadfu' to hear him. It made sic an impres- 
sion on me, that I crept quietly owre the bed, out o' his keimin, and kneeled down 
beside him. He confessed himself to be the chief o' sinners, with tears of agony ; 
and siccan fervour o' eloquence I never heard frai the lips o' man. It was awe- 
some to hear him. I was even greetin' mysel', although it's no little that garj 
luld Sandy cry." 

I rejoice in believing the heart of Bums to have been always true. A tendef 
&iher he siu-ely was. He revered Virtue when he outraged her. The littl>' hand* 
rf his children were familiar to his teck in all their " flichterin' noise ao' glee : 



er> ROBERT BURNS. xHi 

md no husband, in his calmer hours, ever felt more deeply tit dear asMCiadoiH 
if^e 

" ^Wee bit ingle, blinldn bonnily. 

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile." 

The wife of Bums had much to forgive, and she forgave it, in life aad in death. 
Very touching is the anecdote which Hogg tells of Jean Burns the widow. " Na 
na, poor fellow, his complaints were a' of himsel'. He never complained either oi 
Ihe baims or me , he never said a misbehaddeu word to me a' the days of his life. ' 
We have evidence, in the poetry which Bums wrote at Dumfries, that the brighter 
life within him was continually throwing sunshine into the outward cloud. And a 
fortunate circumstance cherished the flame. Mr. George Thomson, of Edin- 
biu-gh, had formed a plan of collecting original Scotch airs for the voice, accom- 
panied by words. He was a man of cultivated taste, fond of painting, and able to 
bear his part in a violin quartette of Pleyel. The musical assistance he had secured, 
but he wanted the poetical. His hopes turned to the author of " The Cotter's 
Saturday Night," and in September, 1792, he stated his wishes to Bums, who on 
the i6th of the same month answered the appUcation wdth a frank and cordial en- 
thusiasm. Still further to brighten the prospect, Beattie promised an Essay on 
the National Music. Burns kept his word, and found his pleasure in his work. 
He assured Thomson, in the April of the next year, that the business of compos- 
ing had added to his enjoyments, and that ballad-making was becoming as com- 
pletely his "hobby-horse as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's." His anticipa- 
tions of success, too, were largely fulfilled ; for in this race he took the right side 
of the winning-post. By the general verdict of readers, the sixty songs, which he 
wrote for the collection of Thomson, are pronounced to be the most beautiful and 
refined of his works. The " Bannockburn " was a blast upon a trumpet which he 
blew too seldom. But the evening lights begin to melt around us. 

The glimpses which the poet gives of himself are in the highest degree mourn- 
ful : Regret — Remorse — Shame, dog his steps and bay at his heels ; he apologizes 
to a lady for some festive ill-behaviour, by writing a letter " from the dead ■• " his 
helpless httle folks drive sleep from his pillow ; his old friends would not 
know him. With every month the nervous misery increases ; and his feelings, at 
times, are only to be envied by " a reprobate spirit listening to the sentence that 
dooms it to perdition." Except in the letters of Cowper, I remember no self-up- 
braidings more dreadful or pathetic. The storm deepened. He had hardly biuied 
his sweet little girl, when a rheumatic fever of the severest kind bound him to his 
»ed. All these things were against him. To James Johnson he wrote :— "Thi* 
^otrvcting, slow, consuming ■'llaess which hangs over me will, I doubt mucl) 



xliv LJPE AND WRITINGS 

arrest my sun before he has well reached his middle career, and will turn over th« 
poet to far more important concerns than studying the brilliancy of w it or the pa- 
thos of sentiment. However, hoi)e is the cordial of the human heart, and J 
endeavour to cherish it as well as I can." The new year found him making feebl» 
efforts to crawl across his room. But no suffering could teach prudence to Bum* 
The firstfruits of his strength were given to a tavern dinner, prolongea ijto th* 
late morning. Returning home, he sunk on the snow and slept. The old enemy 
came in his sleep, and he awoke with the torments of rheumatism, renewed scat 
sharpened. Pale, emaciated, and wanting a hand to help him from his chair, h« 
complained of " spirits fled — fled ! " One faint hope remained— it was the shadow 
nf a shade : sea-bathing might restore him. In order to obtain it, he was removed 
to Brow, a village on the Solway Frith ; and there his pains were slightly relieved 
But the fire was still burning. He returned to Dumfries on the i8th of July, 
1796, wasted in body and face, and hardly able to stand. Dr. Maxwell, wIk 
attended him, communicated the particulars of his closing hours to Currie ; — A 
tremor pervaded his frame ; his tongue was parched, and his mind sunk into de- 
lirium when not roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever 
increased, and his strength diminished. Upon the fourth day the cord was loosed 
and the spirit took its flight. 

So died Robert Burns, the most remarkable person of that age ; alike gifted 
and wretched ; the glory and the shame of literature. Can the tale be more fit- 
tingly ended, or moralized, than by the last words of a Scottish minstrel of wide 
renown, and who did not die in a noisy street, but in the splendid home which hit 
genius had erected. The September afternoon was calm and sunny, and thr 
Tweed, rippling over its pebbles, sounded through the open window, when the ex 
piring poet whispered to a friend by his bed, " I may have but a minute to speak 
to you, — My dear, be a good man — be virtuous, be religious. Nothing else will 
give yau any comfort when you come to lie here." 

Men forgive much to the dead, and round the grave of Bums nothing was re- 
membered but the light that had been quenched. It went down in stormy splen- 
doiu: among clouds and darkness, but the survivors thought only of the full anc 
glowing orb, and the beauty which it had left for ever to illuminate the streanw 
»nd fields of Scotland. He was buried, July 26th, with military honours, as be- 
longing to the Dumfries Volunteers, and a great multitude followed him. The 
sun shone brightly all the day, and while the earth " was heaped up, and the 
green sod was laid over him, the crowd stood gazing for some minutes' space, and 
then melted silently away." 

Few faces are more familiar to poetical readers than the broad, massive, earnest 
coimtenance of Bums. A plain-spoken and rough acquaintance said that he was a 
good-looking, fine fellow, " rather black an' ill-coloured ; " and Professor Walkei 



OF ROBER T BL'RN-^: xlv 

recognized the weather-beaten features of a master of a trading vessel. His black 
kair, slightly sprinkled with grey, was spread over his forehead, ana suited th« 
large dark eye, which really glowed under the impulse of pleasure or anger. 
"I have seen," wrote Scott, "the most distinguished men of my time; and 1 
never saw such another eye in a human head." His figure was tall — nearly fiv« 
feet teu inches, — but an ungraceful stoop diminished his height to the observer. 
Like many poets, he was not captivated by science, or skill, in music. An old 
strathspey awoke exquisite pleasure, ani ' Rothemurche's Rant" put him in rap- 
tures. Tn this feeling he resembled Scott, who was melted by the simplest tune- 
while a complicated harmony seemed to be a babble of sounds. But no ear wa» 
wakefuUer than that of Burns to every tone of nature : her sigh, her murmur, has 
breath of love ; the rustle of the copse, the wmd in the branches, the whist!* 
of the curlew, the cadence of plovers, the moan of the river sedge, — each sound 
passed over his mind like a cunning finger upon a harp, and left him soothed, in- 
flamed, enamoured or devout. 

His literary taste was instinctively pure and refined. Virgil charmed him by 
rural pictures and exquisite grace, filling his mind "with a thousand fancies of 
emulation," and, at the same time, reminding him of a Shetland pony by the side of 
a racei starting for the plate. His judgment of English poetry was chaste and true. 
Pope, Dryden, Collins, Gray, Thomson, and Beattie were especially dear. I 
think that he never read much of Spenser, but Milton he revered. He hailed " the 
glorious poem, ' The Task,' " and admired the water-colour drawings of Hurdis. 
In prose he did not show so exact a judgment ; for while he loved the sweet serious 
morals of Addison, he suffered himself to be dazzled and beguiled by the rant of 
Ossian, and the pantomime of Sterne. Nor may I forget the " Meditations " of 
Hervey, which have long been among the popular reading of Scotland. 

Of his personal character, the key was pride, often manifesting itself in arro- 
gance and injustice. He dines with Lord Glencaim, who has one other guest, a 
man of rank, to whom he shows becoming attention. The blood of the poet boils 
against the " blockhead," and he is on the point of " throwing down his gage of 
contemptuous defiance," for " Dunderpate" to take up. The incident recalls the 
pleasant story of Selden : — "We measure the excellency of other men jy soma 
excellency which we conceive to be in ourselves. Nash, a poet (poor enough, as 
ooets used to be), seeing an alderman with the gold chain upon his great horse, 
said to one of his companions, " Do you see yon fellow, how goodly, how big he 
looks? Why, that fellow cannot make a blank verse." "Dunderpate" was pro- 
bably a usefuller member of society than Burns. Such passages suggest a com- 
parison with the American Cooper, shaking the dust oiF his feet, because an infirm 
nobleman entered a drawiug-ioom before him. The temper of Bums occasionally 
brok« into open rudeness ard insult. A lady asked him if he had noiliing to sat 



flvi LIFE AND WRITINGS 

of a fine scene before them. " Nothing, madam," was his reply, while his ey« 
glanced to the leader of the party, " for an ass is braying over it." 

The politics cf Bums took the part of his fancy, his friendship, or his pique. 
Scott, enclosing a few letters to Mr. Lockhart, remarked—" In one of them (to 
the singular old curmudgeon. Lady Winifred Constable) he plays high Jacobite, 
»nd on that account it is curious ; though I imagine his Jacobitism, like my own, 
belonged to the fancy rather than to the reason." There is no need of conjec- 
ture. Bums acknowledges that his " Jacobitism was merely by way of vive la 
ia^atelle." 

Of his religious opinions, a letter to Mrs. Dunlop (June 21, 1789) gives a full 
ind interesting account : — 

" I hare just heard give a sermon. He is a man famous for his benevo- 

Lence, and I revere him ; but from such ideas of my Creator, good Lord, deliver 
me ! Religion, my honoured friend, is surely a simple business, as it equally con- 
cerns the ignorant and the learned, the poor and the rich. That there is an 
incomprehensibly great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and that he must 
»e intimately acquainted with the operations and progress of the internal machin- 
try, and consequent outward deportment of this creature which he has made,— 
these are, I think, self-evident propositions. That there is a real and eternal dis- 
tinction between virtue and vice, and consequently that I am an accountable 
creature — that from the seeming nature of the human mind, as well as from the 
•vident imperfection, nay, positive injustice, in the administration of affairs, both 
A the natural and moral worlds, there must be a retributive scene of existence 
beyond the grave, — must, I think, be allowed by every one who will give himself 
k moment's reflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that from the sublimity, 
wcellence, and purity of his doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all the aggre- 
gated wisdom and learning of many preceding ages, though, to appearance, he 
timself was the obscurist and most illiterate of our species, therefore, Jesus 
Christ was from God. 

" Whatever mitigates to woes or increases the happiness of others, this is my 
literion of goodness ; and whatever injures society at large, or any individual in 
t, this is my measure of iniquity." 

" I hate," he said, upon another occasion, " the very idea of a controversial 
Cvinity ; I despise the superstition of a fanatic : but I love the religion of a man," 
His lines had not fallen in pleasant places. Controversy was rampant ; and the 
truth, if truth it were, was often told with the tongue of a viper. The religion of 
the heart he seldom found. Bom and brought up a Presbyterian, the Gospe. 
»rac t« Mm in the roar of black Russell and the invectives of Father Auld. I» 



OP ROBERT BURNS. xlvii 

ao drew couid the creed look fair or engaging. A man of taste, in a kirk, has a 
feeling of being snowed up in an unfurnished hoiae, without a fire. A chill 
strikes him from the cold building and the colder worship. In one of the poet's 
journals, we hear him pouring out his intense disgust : — " What a poor, pimping 
business is a Presbyterian place of worship : dirty, narrow, squalid, stuck in a cornel 
of old Popish grandeur, such as Linlithgow, and much more, Melrose." His 
greatest countrymen have shared his dislike : Byron remembered the fiery Cal- 
vinism of his boyhood with a sense of personal injury ; the heart of Scott yeamefi 
for tliat nobler and purer ritual which has breathed into its prayers the devotion 
and the language of the Apostles ; and the sentiments of Jefirey are known to 
have been of the same kind. 

Presbyterianism in Burns's time was coarser and fiercer than in ours. Vulgar 
Jk attire, wrathful in look, menacing in speech, — it combined in its visage the most 
repulsive features of the faith. Nor had it always inward virtue to atone for the 
outward offence. The Elders frequently showed the curiosity of the Inquisition ; 
and in some of the Ministers might be seen the tyranny of the cowl, without the 
romance. 

Wordsworth expressed his regret that, instead of writing poems like " The 
Holy Fair," in which the religious services of his country are treated with levity 
and scorn, Bums did not employ his genius in exhibiting religion under the serious 
and affecting aspect which it so frequently takes. And Jeffrey paints a delight- 
ful sketch of a Highland Sacrament, with its Gaelic sermon preached out of tents 
to picturesque crowds in the open air, grouped on rocks by the glittering sea, in 
the mountain bays of a long-withdrawing loch. But the vulgar and rabid fanati- 
cism, by which the poet was surrounded, had taken out of Religion the beauty 
and the love. Her clothing was not " of wrought gold," and she never appeared 
in raiment of needle- work, nor in the company of beautiful attendants. 

Perhaps in no man of his age would the religious life, fitly planted and nur- 
tured, have found a fruitfuUer home. The soil was rich and deep. He wrote — 
" My great constituent elements are pride and passion. The first I have endea- 
voured to humanize into integrity and honour ; the last makes me a devotee, to the 
warmest degree of enthusiasm, in love, religion, or friendship, — either of them, or 
all together, as I happen to be inspired.'" The organ was there, and the antheia 
slept. How majestic are the thoughts into which his devotional feelings are 
occasionally breathed ; — scattered, but solemn notes of a mind seldom tuned ot 
played upon, but wonderful in its various and swelling music ! Read this confession 
— *' I have been, this morning, taking a peep through, as Young finely says, ' Th« 
dark postern of time long slapsed.' 'Twas a rueful prospect ! What a tissue ol 
thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly ! My life reminded me af a mined temple 
What strength, what proportion in some parts ! What unsightly gaps, what pra» 



xlviii LIFE AND WRITINGS 

irate ruius in otkers I I kneeled down before the Father of Merci««, and said 
' Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no mowe worth) 
to be called thy son.' I rose, eased and strengthened." 

He approved of " set times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of devo 
tion ; " and he had certain Saints'-days in his poetical calendar. These wen 
New Year's Day ; the first Smiday of May ; " a breezy, blue-skied noon, som* 
time about the beginning, and a hoary morning and a calm sunny day, about the 
end of autumn." With these holidays of the mind he associated particular sounds 
and flowers ; and especially in spring, he delighted to look upon "the mountai* 
daisy, the harebell, the foxglove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the 
hoary hawthorn." He said — " I have various sources of pleasure and enjoyment 
which are, in a manner, peculiar to myself, or some here or there such other out- 
of»the-way person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in the season of winter, 
more than the rest of the year. This, I believe, may be partly owing to my mis- 
fortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast ; but there is something even in 

' The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste 
Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth,' 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable to everything great and 
noble. There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — I do not know if I 
should call it pleasure — but something which exalts me, something which enrap- 
tures me, — than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in 
a cloudy winter day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and 
raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion; my mind is wrapped up 
in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard. 
' walks on the wings of the Avind.' " 

A poet seldom keeps his fame with his tongue ; but the conversation of Bums 
was marked by the strong features of his genius : brilliant, sarcastic, tender, and 
fluent, the roar and the tears of the table were obedient to his summons. An in- 
habitant of Dumfries gave a lively impression of his maimer by saying, that he 
seemed to be desperately in earnest. He did not always pick his subjects or his 
words. The schoolmaster of Dumfries, indeed, put in a claim on his behalf for 
unblemished language and thought ; and declared that be had seen Bums dazzling 
and delighting a party during a long evening by the brightness and rapidity of his 
flashes, "without even an allusion " that could offend the most deUcate hearer. 
I am unable to reconcile the panegyric with the confession of a biographer, who 
fouxd the poet's festive sayings quite imrepresentable ; but he knew his company 
■ad had jests for Nicol, ballads for Stewart, and ribaldry for the bowl. 

The accounts of his voice are contradictory. I have seen it called untunabll 
md harsh. Mr. Allan Cunningham once heard Bums read Tarn O'Shanter wit} 



OF RUBER T B URNS, xlix 

karmony aid skill, following all the undulations of the sense, and expressing the 
humour and the awfulness of the story. Although he never advanced into England 
beyond Carlisle and Newcastle, we are told by Currie that he had less of tha 
Scottish dialect than Hume, who was polished by the fashion and literature ol 
London and Paris ; or Robertson, whose purity and elegance of composition are 
his chief characteristics. 

Biuns came before the world as the " Ayrshire Ploughman ; " but a mere farm- 
servant he never was ; and in no sense of the word could he be styled an un- 
educated poet. We must go to Suffolk, or Northamptonshire, to seek real 
ploughboys bursting into song. Bloomfield has told his tale ; and the painful 
struggles of Clare are freshly remembered. He paid for such teaching as he got, 
by extra work in the field or the bam. The toil of eight weeks provided school- 
ing for four. A kind neighbour taught him to write. He was ignorant of gram- 
mar, and he had no books ; but the appetite was strong. 

In his fourteenth year, a boy showed to him the " Seasons ; " and Clare, 
having saved up a shilling, set off to Stamford, in the dawn of a spring morning, 
to purchase a copy, and reached the town before a shop was open. 

Now look at Burns, — over-worked, yet rejoicing in the pleasant scholarship ol 
home ; by the time that he was ten or eleven years old, quite a critic in substan- 
tives and verbs ; improving his handwriting, or giving his manners a brush in the 
dancing-school ; within-doors iiuding a teacher in his father, a poetic nurse in his 
mother ; — one strengthening his judgment with good books and arithmetic, and 
the other charming his young fancy with legends and ballads of the country-side. 
He was probably a better English scholar than most boys of his age who were 
then at Eton ; and his skill and power of composition might hardly be equalled by 
the lads who had passed into King's. 

In the history of every poet we read a new version of the " Faery Queen " 
found by Cowley in the parlour-window. Ramsay was the Spenser of Bums— 
'"Green be the pillow," Scott said, "of honest Allan, at whose lamp Bums lighted 
his brilliant torch." Fergusson shared the honour of kindling it, and the later 
minstrel borrowed from the elder the plan and the measure of several poems ; but 
he justly claimed the name of a disciple, not a copyist, for he repaid his debu 
with lavish interest. The one flower-seed sprang up a cluster of bloom. 

His earliest compositions were satirical ; and the first of his poetic offspring, 
SIS he informs us, that saw the light, was the ludicrous portraiture of two ministers 
»s "Twa Herds ;" " Holy Willie's Prayer" followed it, with "The Ordination," 
Bnd "The Kirk's Alarm." Probably the "Epistle to Davie" preceded them. 
Bums was weeding in the kail-yard when he repeated some of the lines to his 
brother, who thought it equal to Ramsay, and worthy of being printed. Robert 
was then twenty-five. "Death and Dr. Hornbook" he also recited to Gilbert 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 

bolding the plough, while the poet was letting the water off the field beside 
him. 

A sweeter tune mingled with thes.'; strains : and when timiing up the furrow, 
he composed the verses to the "Mouse," the " Mountain Daisy," and other rurat 
piices. His poetical growth was quick, and he had only the nightingale's April 
before the May. Burns has left examples of nearly every shorter form of rhyme ; 
the description, the satire, the epistle, the elegy, the love-song, the war-lay, and 
the epigram. He considered " Tam O'Shanter" to be his standard performance, 
and pubhc opinion confirms his own. I must, however, confess that, in my judg- 
ment, the story runs down too fast, and the blaze of imagination seems to be un- 
eiq)ectedly and suddenly quenched in a mean catastrophe, which is the mere stick 
of the rocket. At the same time it is proper to mention the contrary view of those 
fritics — Miss Seward in the number — who regard the jocose moral as admirablj' 
in keeping with the |[eneral plan, and applaud the poet for laughing at his obj ectors 
snd retaining the sportive admonition. The story of " The Twa Dogs " is not less 
admirable in another style. 

The Scottish poems of Bums can be thoroughly relished by his countrymen 
only. Cowper remarked, " Poor Bums loses much of his deserved praise in this 
coimtry through our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting with any 
Englishman, who will take the pains that I have taken to understand him. His 
candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible 
neighbour of mine ; but his imcouth dialect spoiled all, and before he had read 
him through, he was quite ratnfeezled." Dr. Moore seems to have anticipated 
this danger, when he warned the poet that all the fine satire and humour oi 
"The Holy Fair" would be lost on the English, and urged him to abandon the 
Scottish stanza and dialect, and adopt the measure and language of modem Eng 
lish verse. The difficulty of comprehension is specially felt in the poems of humour 
and coimnon life ; where a phrase, or a proverb, to the familiar ear brings with it 
a train of home recollections and pleasures. In such cases, the dialect is the 
family accent. Frequently, however, the hindrance is scarcely perceived. In 
"The Cotter's Saturday Night," nearly every stanza has a different tone. Some- 
times he writes pure and simple English ; another passage requires a glossary ; 
snd occasionally he combines the two languages, and Mends, with admirable 
eflfect, pathos, sublimity, beauty, and homeliness. Dryden said pleasantly of 
Theocritus, that even his Doric dialect has an incomparable sweetness in his clown- 
ishness — like a fail shepherdess in her country russet, talking in a Yorkshire tone. 
The Scottish songs of Burns suggest the same agreeable comparison ; and a fresh- 
ness sparkles in every word, hke ,dew on the heather-bell. The " latitudinaiian- 
ism" of the dialect is very accommodating to the poet, who is able by this Scottish 
privilege to marry the most opposite and discordant rhymes. Spenser had set 



OP ROBERT BURNS. 

fie be Id example of aew spelling a word whenever the exigencies of sound required 
It ; andBums treated his syllables with the same freedom. 

The full harmony of his genius flowed into his songs, of which the remark ol 
Mr. Pitt was pre-eminently true, that he could think of no verse, since Shakspeare, 
tvhich had so much the appearance of coming sweetly from Nature. Under the 
.Vagrant birch trees, in the heathery glens, or among the moonlit sheaves, the 
gushes of music flowed warm from his heart. The range of it is not large, and ono 
mellow, plaintive, delicious love-note always returns upon the ear in beauty. But 
the song of Burns was no mere outpouring of rich sounds. He bestowed time and 
patience. " All my poetry," he said, " is the effect of easy composition, but ol 
laborious correction." Here is the interesting story, from his own pen : — " My 
way is — I consider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical 
expression ; then choose my theme — begin one stanza : when that is composed, 
which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now 
and then, look out for objects in nature roimd me that are in unison or harmony 
with the cogitations of my fancy and workings of my bosom ; humming every now 
and then the air with the verse I have framed. When I feel my muse beginning 
to jade, I retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there commit my effusions 
to paper ; swinging at intervals on the hind legs of my elbow-chair, by way of 
calling forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at 
home, is almost invariably my way." The love-poetry of Burns is, for the most 
part, desire set to music. The unselfishness, the reverence, and the chivalry of 
affection he did not appreciate, or felt himself unable to portray. Crabbe's tale, 
in the second letter of " The Borough," has a sublimity of tenderness and a truth- 
ful purity which the Ayrshire Bard never equalled. 

Johnson, running down Hammond, denies the reality of all attachment whera 
there is fiction, and despises a lover who corn^ his mistress with Roman imagery. 
Bums, too, sweeps away darts, flames, and graces, " as just a Mauchline rabble." 
\ know not why pastoral courtship should be truer than classical, for imagery is 
faly the reflection of feeling. We compare those whom we admire to things which 
we prize. A woman is not more like a rose on a castle wall, than she is like Diana 
with her qiuver. The rose and the goddess are emblems of beauty, and the poet 
chooses the one or the other, as the flower or the figure may be most familial 
and pleasing to his memory. Taste moulds the lover. Nor is exaggeration In. 
compatible with naturalness. Every poet magnifies a circumstance, and illuminates 
A heroine ; and by so doing, he vanquishes the painter, and wins gratitude for the 
pen. To Waller, and not to Vandyck, we owe the ideal charms of Saccharisa. 

The amatory compositions of Bums are not so pure in spirit as the utterance ii 
melocious. One of his correspondents wished to see the loose sentimenti 
threshed out tf a partict&ar song. There is ample room for the flail, and witk 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 

ongerlife, and in more thoughtful hours, the author would have handled it himself i 
Inth what advantage to the finer wheat and to his own enduring fame, I need not 
say, for 

" Sweet this man could sing, as morning lark, 
And teach the noblest morals of the heart." 

The language of Burns is worthy of the poetry : animated and flexible, it 3om> 
bines symmetry with muscle, and harmony with strength. In the choice of the 
illustration, the happy daring of the phrase, the delicate turn of the expressioji, 
jind the tunefulness of the numbers, he is seldom surpassed by the most cultivated 
of his brethren. Even Pope is not a finer study for distinctness and precision. 

Wordsworth expressed surprise that Burns — passing the fruitful season of \a% 
poetical life within sight of splendid sea-prospects, bounded by the peaks of Arr«« 
— «hould be quite silent respecting them ; and he explains the peculiarity by the 
act, that, in the poetry of Bums, natural appearances seldom take the lead. He 
affects us as a man, rather than as a poet, by common feelings uttered in the poet's 
voice. Rivers, hills, and woods are blended in his mind with remembrances of 
place, time, and sentiment. And I am induced to copy here the very elegant ob- 
servations of a true and a sympathizing critic, a master and a judge of the lyre:' 
—"It is evident, from almost all his pieces, that it was his delight — ^indeed it was 
\a.% forte — to localize the personages of his poetry : whether the offspring of his 
brain like Coila, supernatural beings — ^like the dancers in Kirk Alloway or national 
heroes — like Wallace and Bruce, with the very woods, and hills, and streams 
which he frequented in his boyhood. And in his mind, this assimilation was so 
lively and abiding, that there are few of his descriptions — descriptions in number, 
diversity, and picturesoue features seldom equalled— on which he has not cast such 
sunshine of reality, that we cannot doubt that they had their prototypes in nature, 
and not in nature only, but in his native district. It is probable that the mini of 
every one of us lays the scenes of Scripture-narrative, of history, of romance, of 
epic poetry, in fact, of all that we hear or read of, — in the places where we speqt 
our childhood and youth : as, for example, the Garden of Eden in our father's 
»rchard, where there were many fruit trees ; the battle of Cannae on the wide 
Common, intersected with trenches ; the enchanted castle of some stupendous 
^iant, upon the hill where the ruins of a Saxon tower rise out of 8 thick wood. It 
IS of some advantage, then, to the poet, that the features of the landscapes, amidst 
which he first dwelt, but more especially those of the neighbourhood where he 
•rent to school, should afford rich and plastic materials, which imagination can 
livenify a million-fold, and so accommodate as to make them the perpetual theatr« 

' James Montgomery's " Lectures on Poetry," 1833, pp. 353-s* 



OF ROBERT BURNS. liii 

»f all that he has been taught to remember concerning those who have lived before 
llim, and all that he invents to 'acrease the pleasures of memory to those that shall 
come after him. For it is not from the real and visible presence of things that the poet 
copies and displays ; wherever he is, his 'heart' is still 'untravelled; ' and it is 
from the cherished recollections of what early affected him, and could never after- 
wards be forgotten (having grown up into ideal beauty, grandeur, and excellence 
in his own mind), that he sings, and paints, and sculptures out imperishable forms 
of &ncy, thouglit, and feeling. In this respect, all the compositions of Bums are 
homogeneous. We is in every style, in every theme, not only the patriot, the 
Scotchman, but the Scotchman the patriot of Ayrshire ; so dear and indissoluble 
tre the ties of locality to minds the most aspiring and independent. 

" Bums, according to his own account, was distinguished in childhood by a very 
teten£ve memory. In the stores of that memory we discover the hidden treasures 
of his muse, which enabled her, with a prodigality like that of nature, to pour forth 
images and objects of every form, and colour, and kind, while, with an economy, 
like that of the most practised art, she selected and combined the endless charac- 
teristics of pleasing or magnificent scenery, with such simplicity and effect, under 
every aspect of sky or season, that the bard himself seems rather to be a companion 
pointing out to the eye the loveliness or horror of a prospect within our own hori- 
«on, than the enchanter creating a fairy scene visible only to imagination. Ho 
appears to invent nothing, while, in truth, he exercises a much higher faculty than 
what is frequently called invention. The genius of Bums, like his native stream, 
confined to his native district, reflects the scenery on the 'Banks of Ayr' with as 
much more tmth and transparency than factitious landscapes are painted in the 
opaque pages of more ostentatious poets, as the reflections of trees, cottages, and 
animals, are more vivid and diversified in water than the shadows of the same ob- 
jects are on land." 

A word is due to the prose of Bums. The letters of poets include delightful 
specimens of our language ; and the art of Pope, the pictures of Gray, the sun- 
shine of Goldsmith, the heart-scenery of Cowper, and the nature of Scott, afford 
to some readers a livelier pleasure than their verses. The admirers of Bums add 
his name to the list. He could and did write noble English, throbbing with life, 
fashioned in beauty, and moving in grace. But the examples are few. His heart 
was seldom in the work : — " Except," he assured Mrs. Dimlop, " when prompted 
by fricEdship or gratitude, or (which happens extremely rarely) inspired by the 
Muse that presides over epistolary writing, I sit down, when necessitated to write, 
)B I sit down to beat hemp." 

The aversion and the effort are sufiiciently conspicuous, and the way to escape 
cam is easily learned. "Just sit down as I do," was the admonition of Gold- 
unith to a scanty correspondent, "and write forward till you have filled all yow 



V LIFE AND WRITINGS 

pujet ; it reijuires no thought ; my head has no share in all I write ; my Tteait 
dictates the whole." In the same temper, Southey assures his wife, after he had 
Men the young "Rosciiis," — " I could tell you how the actor pleased and disap- 
pointed me ; but the story would take time and thought ; and in letter-writing I 
love to do nothing more than just say what is uppermost." Bums never failed 
when he let the affections guide his pen, and wrote the uppermost thought as- it 
rose. But Goldsmith was not his model. In youth he had been ensnared by thd 
"wits," and Pope became the object of his imitation. With such an artist whc 
might contend? Bums possessed silver and gold : but only skill the most accom- 
plished, and practice untiring, could raise the rare chasing on the metal. These 
endowments he wanted, and his celebrated letters are themes. They have a 
worse fault : his adulation is immense ; and no scribbler, bribing Harley for a 
meal, ever outshamed the reply of Bums to the " Card" of Lord Buchan. 

But I will not linger on his faults, of which some did really lean to the side o£ 
virtue. And even flattery is occasionally the heart's voice speaking' loud. Biums 
had in him the seeds of a noble character, and the ground was good ; but while 
he slept "his enemy came and sowed tares with the wheat," and the fruit and 
the weeds grew together. Jeflfrey speculated on the healthful influence of pure exam> 
pies and wise lessons put gently before him. The effort would have been hazard- 
ous, for his pride was full of eyes, always wakeful. He boasted of it as a necessity 
of life, and wished to be stretched to his full length, in the grave, that he might 
occupy every inch of the ground to which he was entitled. His employment 
sharpened his tone. A moderate independence, literary leisure, and cultivated 
fiiends might have cherished a sweeter temper of charity and meekness in the 
poet-gauger, weary of a weekly gallop of two hundred miles, and the inspection 
of yeasty barrels. And what reader of Bums will refuse to echo the voice ol 
Wordsworth, in his sympathy and his prayer ?— 

"Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight- 
Think rather of those moments bright 
When to the consciousness of right 

His course was true, — 
When Wisdom prospered in his sight, 

And Virtue grew. 
Yes, freely let our hearts expand. 
Freely as in youth's season bland. 
When side by side, his Book in hand. 

We wont to stray, 
Onr pleasure varying at command 

Of each sweet Lay. 



0F ROBERT BURNS. 

Through busiest street and loneliest f^m 

Are felt the flashes of his pen ; 

He rules 'mid winter snows, and when 

Bees fill their hives ; 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives. 

'Sweet Mercy ! to the gates of Heaven 
This Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven ;, 
The rueful conflict, the heart riven 

With vain endeavour. 
And memory of Earth's bitter leaven 

Effaced for ever. 

But why to him confine the prayer. 
When kindred thoughts and \ 
On the frail heart the purest share 

With all that live J— 
Iha bat of what we do and ai% 

JnnGoDfOMnsl* 



WORKS 



ROBERT BURNS 



POEMS. 



THE TWA DOGS,' 

A TALE. 

TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
rhat bears the name o' Auld King 

Coil." 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang3 at 

hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 
The first I'll name, they ca'd him 

Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,4 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 

* "The Tale of Twa Dogs" was 
composed after the resolution of pub- 
Ushing was nearly taken. Robert had 
a dog, which he called Luath, that was 
a great favourite. The dog had been 
killed by the wanton cruelty of some 
person the night before my fadier's 
death. Robert said to me that he 
should like to confer such immortality 
as he could bestow on his old friend 
Lttaih, and that he had a great mind 
to introduce something into the book 
under the title of "Stanzas to the 
Memory of a quadruped Friend ; " but 
this plan was given up for the Tale as 
it now stands. Caesar was merely the 
creature of the poet's imagination, cre- 
ated for the purpose of holding chat 
with his favourite Luath. — G. B. 

" A Pictish king, said to have given 
I name to Kyle. 3 Busy. < £ars. 



But whalpit' some place far abrow!^ 
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. 
His locked, letter'd, braw* bran 

collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar j 
But thongh he was o' high degree. 
The fient3 a pride, na pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messin.4 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,S 
Nae tawted tyke, 6 tho' e'er sae duddie^ 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. 
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wf 

him. 
The titherwas a ploughman'scolhe, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,^ 
Wha for his friend and comrade had 

him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,' 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how 

lang. 
He was a gash^° an' faithfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a. sheugh'' or dike. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt'^ face. 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 
His breast was white, his towzie '3 back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie '■* tail, wi' upward curl, 

' Whelped. " Handsome. 3 Fiend. 

< A small dog. 5 A smithy. 

6 Dog with matted hair. 

1 A country cur. 8 a brother. 

9 Cuchullin's dog in "Ossian's Fia> 



gal."— R. B, 
" A ditch 
'3 Rough, 



WLse. 

" White-stripcA 
'4 Largs. 



WORKS OF BUKNS. 



Hung owre his hurdies * wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither. 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and 

suowkit ; ^ 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they 

howkit ; 3 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown. 
Upon a knowe they sat them down. 
An' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation, 

C^SAR. 

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you 

have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liVd ava.4 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : S 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonnie, silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare thro' the 

steaks, 6 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks.7 
Frae mom to e'en it's nought but toil- 
ing, 
At bak mg, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin,8 
Vet eVn the ha' folk fill their pechan^ 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and such Uke trash- 
trie. 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit woimer,'° 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner. 
Better than ony_ tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch " 

in, 
I own it's past my compiehension. 



Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't 
enough. 



» Digged. •♦ At all. 

I Dues of any kind. * Stitches. 

Peeps. 8 Cramming. 9 Stomach. 
" Wonder, " Paunch. 



A cotter howldn ' in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and siclike, _ 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie^ o' wee duddie'* weans,^ 
An' nought but his han' darg,6 to ke«« 
Them right an' tight in thack an' rape 1 
An' when they meet wi' sair disas- 
ters. 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch Ian- 

ger. 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and 

hunger ; 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet. 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly ^ chiels, an' clever hizziea, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 



But tlien to see how ye're negleckit, 
HowhufF'd, an' cufT'd, an' disrespeckit 
Lord, man, our gentry care as httle 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle. 
They gang as saucy by poor folk. 
As I wad by a stinking brock.9 

I've notic'd on our Laird's court-day. 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 
How they maun thole™ a factor'i 

snash : ^^ 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse and 

swear. 
He'll apprehend them, poind *3 theb 

gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect 

humble. 
An' hear it a', an' fear and tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches : 
But surelypoorfolkmaunbe wretches. 



* Digging. ' Build 

■ 3 A numerous collection. 
5 Children. _ ^ Labour. 

7 Clothing necessaries. 

8 Stout-grown, 9 Badger. 
'° Endure. " Abuse. 

12 " My indignation yet boils at dis 
recollection of the scoimdrel factor'i 
insolent threatening letters, whVdl used 
to set us all in tears." — R, B. 

'3 Seize their goods. 



They're no sae wretched's ane wad 
think, 
rho' constantly on poortith's ' brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided. 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 
The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie ^ weans an' faithfu' wives : 
The prattling things are j ust their pride, 
liiat sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindUng fury i' their breasts. 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
And ferlie3 at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass 4 returns. 
They get the jovial, ranting Kims, 5 
When rural life, o' eVry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 
That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty wins ; 
The nappy 6 reeks wi' rnantling ream,^ 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntinS pipe, an sneeshin mill,' 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie ^° auld folks crackin crouse, ^^ 
The young anes ranting thro' the 

house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see 

them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest fawsont '^ folk. 
Are riven out baith root an' branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 

' Poverty. ' Thriving. 3 Wonder. 
* 31st October. S Harvest-suppers. 
' Ale. ^ Cream. 8 Smoking. 
> Smuft-h»)x. " Cheerful. 

' * Convenaing merrily. '^ Seemly. 



In favour wi' some gentle Mastfel, 
Wha, aiblin:,' thrang a parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin— 



Haith,^ lad, ye little ken about it; _ 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say, rather, gaun as Premiers lead hin^ 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading:. 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,3 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft. 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl. 
To learn ioK ton an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 
Or by Madrid he taks the rout. 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt ; * 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
W — e-hunting amang groves o' myrtle*: 
Then bouses drumly S German water. 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows. 
Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destructioni 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 



Hech,6 man ! dear sirs! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last? 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better. 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fienthaet ^ o' them's ill-hearted fellows 
Except for breakin o' their timmer,8 
Or speakin lightly o' their Limmer,' 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock. 
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folic 

But will ye tell me. Master Cffisar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasurel 
Nae cau'ld nor hunger e'er can steer" 

them. 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

' Perhaps. * A petty oath. 

3 Giddy. 4 Fight with black cattla 

S Muddy. 6 Oh — strange. 

7 A petty oath of negation. 8 Timbec 
9 A woman of ill character. '° Molest 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



CKSAR. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare 
I am. 

The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 
It's true, they need na starve or sweat. 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their 

banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : ' 
But human bodies are sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They mak enow themsels to vex them ; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt ^ them. 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh ; 
A country girl at her wheel. 
Her dizzens3 done, she's unco weel: 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil ha.et ails them, yet vmeasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' restless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' tasteless ; 
An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art. 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in party matches. 
Then sowther* a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' 

w — ring, 
Neist day their life is past enduring. 
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're a run deils an jads thegither.S 
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie. 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks. 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 
An' cheat like ony unhanged black- 
guard. 
There's some exception, man an' -aro- 
man ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 
By this, the sun was out of sight. 
An' darker gloaming brought the night ; 

* "»»OttQS. ' Trouble. ^ Dozens. 

• ;jiement. S Together. 



The bara-clock humm'd wi' la«y drOM, 
The \c.yi^ stood rowtin* i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, an' shook their lug% 
Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogt; 
An' each took afF his several way, 
Besolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Give him strong drink, until he wink. 

That's sinking in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bltiid. 

That's prest wd' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouMi 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomotis Proverbs, xxxL 6, 7. 

Let other Poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drankei 

Bacchus, 
An' crabbit names an' stories wrack ua, 

An' grate our lug, 3 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak vh. 

In glass or jug. 
O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotcl 

Drink, 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou 

jink. 
Or, richly brown, ream 4 owre the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink. 

To sing thy name I 
Let husky Wheat the haught S adorn. 
An' Aits 6 set up their awnie^ horn. 
An' Pease an' Beans at een or morn. 

Perfume the plain, 
I-eeze me on thee, 8 John Barleycorn, 

Thou King o' grain ! 
On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,' 
In soupl e'° scones, '' the wale '* o' food 
Or tumbling in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 

' Cows. ' Lowing. 3 Ear. 

4 Froth. 5 Valleys. 6 Oats 

7 Bearded. _ 8 \a endeiwrinj 

phr.T-se — I am happy in v^ee. 
* Chews her cud. '° FlexibSe 

" A kind of bread. ' Th« «l>oi«o 



POEMS. 



bat when thou pours thy strong heart's 
blood. 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame/ an' jkeeps up 

livin: 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy-dragp'd wi'pine an' griev- 
in; 

But oil'd by thee, 
Ihe wheels o' life gae down-hill, 
scrievin," 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited 3 Lear : 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 
Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Vet hiunbly kind, in time o' need. 

The poor man's wine. 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread. 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
EVn godly meetings o' the saunts. 

By thee inspir'd. 
When gaping they besiege the tents. 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the com jn, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn 

in ! 
Or reekin on a New-year momin 

In cog 4 or bicker. 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual bum in, 

An' gusty S sucker ! 
When Vulcan gies his bellows breath. 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, S 
rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

I' th' lugget caup ! ^ 
Then BumewinS comes on like Death 

At ev'ry chaup.9 



' Belly. " Swiftly. 3 Stupified. 
< A wooden dish. 5 Tastefd. 

6 Gear. 

7 A wooden cup with handle. 

8 Bumewin »- Bum-the-wind — the 
eiacksmith. 9 Blow. 



Nae mercy, then, for aim^ or steel j 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip,^ wi' sturdy whee'( 

The strong forehammer 
Till block an' studdie^ ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 
When skirlin 4 weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright. 
How fumbling cuifs 5 their dearies sli{^ 

Wae worth the name, 
Nae Howdie ^ gets a social night, 

Or plack^ frae them. 
When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud^ as wud can be. 
How easy can the bartey-bree^ 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee. 

To taste the barrel. 
Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte '° her countrymen wi' treason 
But monie daily weet their weason"^ 

Wi' liquors nice. 
An' hardly, in a winter's season. 

E'er spier '^^ her price. 
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash f 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken 
hash,='3 

O' half his dajra; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cwh 

To her warst faes.^* 
Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well. 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel. 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wanes to mell. 

Or foreign gill. 
May gravels round his blather wrench 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gmntle wi' a gluncb 

O' sour disdain. 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi' honest men ! 

' Iron. 

^ A way of striking with their hsunrnd 
on the arm. 3 Anvil. 4 Crying 

S Blockheads. ^ A midwife. 

7 The third part of a Scotch penny. 

8 Mad. 9 Juice. " Blame. 
" Wesand. " Ask. 

'3 A stuBid fellow. 



tf^ORKS OF BURNS. 



O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
ft.ccept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
'Vhen wanting thee, what tuneless 
cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh ! ' O sadly lost ! 
Scotland^ lament fra coast to coast ! 
Now coUc-grips, an' baikin hoast, 

May kill us a'; 
Far loyal Forbes' chartar'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
'Nha. mak the Whisky stells " their prize : 
Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, 
thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
. An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — d drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'U but gie me still 
Hale breeks,3 a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest. 
An deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs the best. 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY 
AND PRAYER 4 



Dearest of Distillation! last and best — 

•—How art thou lost ! 

Parody on Milton. 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha 'epresent our brughs an' shires, 

* From Ferintosh, in Cromartyshire, 
where the Forbes family long had the 
privilege of distilling whisky, duty free. 

=» Stills. 3 Breeches. 

♦ This was written before the Act 
knent the Scotch Distilleries, of Session 
1786 ; for which Scotland and the Au- 
mor return their most grateful tranks. 
-R.B. 



An' doucely manage our affain 
In Parliament, 

To you a simple Bardie's prayers 
Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet' Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honor's heart wi' grief 'twi4 



Low i' the dust. 
An' scriecheif out prosaic verse, 
An' like to brust ! 

Tell them whae hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction. 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitae ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction. 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth. 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south. 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch and gloom 1 
Speak out, an' never fash your thoom \ 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em ; 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge youi 
back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell yoiw crack' 
Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetm owre liei 

tluissle ; 3 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's t 

whissle : '• 
An' d— d Excisemen in a bussle,5 

Seizin a Stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel. 
Or lampitfi shell. 



' Hoarse. 
3 Thistle. 
SBusUe. «A1 



itory. 
^ Whistle 



/hen on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard Smuggler, right behint 

her, 
An' cheek-for-chow, ^ a chuiBe ^ Vintner, 

CoUeaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as Winter 

Of a' kind "oin. 

Is there, thai bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot. 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves. 
An' plundcr'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight 

Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 

But could I like Montgomeries fight. 

Or gab like Boswell, 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw 
tight. 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't. 
The kind, auld, cantie Carhn greet. 
An' no get warmly to your feet. 

An' gar them hear it ! 
An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws. 
To round the peiiod an' pause. 
An' with rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephsn's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempft' r.^atru'; blue Scot I'sewarran; 
Thee •iith't-detesting, chaste Kilker- 

ra-i:5 
An' th?t glib-gabbet'5 Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ; ' 
An' ane, a chap that's d— d auldfarran,8 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie' Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay ; 



' Side by side. * Fat-faced. 

3 George Dempster, Esq., of Dunni- 
^ea, in Forfarshire. * Oath. 

S Sir Adam Ferguson. — R. B. 

* Quick and smooth-speaking. 

y The Dui'.e of Montrose.— R. B. 

• Sagacious. ' Fiery. 



An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers. 
Whom auld Demosthenes, or Tully, 

Might own for brithers. 
Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle. 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugb* 
pettle,^ 

Ye'U see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 
This while she's been in crankous* 

mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !)3 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud"* 

About her Whisky. 
An' Lord, if ance they pit her till't,5 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt. 

She'll tak the streets. 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' th' first she meets ! 
For God's sake. Sirs ! then speak he* 

fair. 
An' straik^her cannie wi' the hair. 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed. 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear,' 

To get remead. 
Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' modes ; 
But gie him't het,S my hearty cocks ! 

E'en CO we the cadie !9 
An' send him to his dicing-box. 

An' sportin lady. 
Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock'i 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks," 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tin- 
nock's'' 

Nine times a-week, 

' Plough-staff. " Fretful. 

3 Trick. ■• Distracted. 

S To it. 6 Stroke. ? Learning. 

8 Hot. 9 Terrify the young fellow. 

'° Thick cakes of mixed com. 

" A worthy old hostess of the Au- 
thor's in Mauchline, where he some- 
times studies politics over a glass of gwid 
amd Scotch Drink.— R. B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



If ae some sahemei, like tea an' win> 
nocks,' 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll plcdge.my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He mjed na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon rtuxtie-maxtie^ queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle 3 tongue ; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 4 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung. 

She'll no desert. 
An' now, ye chosen Five-and- Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support 

ye; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty,S 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. 

Before his face. 
God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claise,6 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes ' _ 

That haunt St Jamie's ! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half-starVd slaves, in warmer skies 
See future vines, rich-clus.t'ring, rise ; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 

But blyth an' frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms. 
While fragrance blooms an' beauty 

charms ! 
When wretches range, in famish'd 

swarms. 

The scented groves. 
Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves. 
Tljeir gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 

' Windows. " Confusedly mixed. 

• Fearless. 4 Cudgel. 

I Ss cy. 6 Clotb<:s. ? Daws. 



Their bauldest thought's a hanlc'itoi 

swither ^ 

To Stan' or rin. 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throw 
ther,=' 

To save their skin. 
But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill. 
Say, such is royal George's will. 
An' there's the foe. 
He hris nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 
Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtjngfj 

tease him : 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees 
him : 



Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es hisr 

In faint huzzas. 
Sages their solemn een may steek,' 
An' raise a philosophic reek,4 
An' physically causes seek. 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 
Scotland, my auld, respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather. 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather. 

Ye tine 5 your dam ; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegithei 

Tak aff your dram ! 



THE LASSES OF TARBOLTON 

WRITTEN IN 1781, IN THE POET's 
23RD YEAR. 

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are propel 
young men. 
And proper young lasses, and a', 
man ; 
But ken ye the Ronalds that live in 
the Bennals, 
They carry the gree^ frae them a' 
man. 
Their father's a laird, and weel he caii 
spare't. 
Braid money to tocher ? them a', maa 

^ Hesitation. * Pell-mell. 

3 Shut. 4 Smoke. S Lose. 

6 Palm. 7 Portioa. 



fo pcocer young mea, he'll clink in the 
Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man. 
There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant 
ye've seen 
As bonny a lass or as braw, man ; 
But for sense and guid taste she'll vie 
wi' the best. 
And a condu-t that beautifies a', 
man. 
fbe charms o' the min', the langer they 
shine. 
The mair admiration they draw, man ; 
iVhile peaches and cherries, and rases 
and lilies, 
They fade and they wither awa, man. 

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a 
frien', 
A hint o' a rival or twa, man. 
The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang 
through the fire. 
If that wad entice her awa, man. 

rhe Laird j' Braehead has been on his 
speed. 
For mair than a towmond or twa, 
man; 
The Laird o' the Ford will straught on 
a board. 
If he canna get her at a', man. 

Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her 
kin. 
The boast of our bachelors a', man ; 
Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully com- 
plete. 
She steals our afl^ections awa,;man. 

If I should detail the pick and the wale 

O' lasses that live here awa, man. 
The fault wad be mine, if they didna 
shine. 
The sweetest and best o' them a', 
man. 

I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell. 
My poverty keeps me in awe, man. 

For making o' rhymes, and working at 
times. 
Does little or naething at a', man. 

I«t J. wadna choose to let her refuse. 
Nor hae 't in her power to say na, 



For though I be poor, imnoticed, ob- 
My stomach's as proud as th«m a', 

Though I canna ride in weel-booted 
pride. 
And flee o'er the hills like a craw. 
man, 
I can baud up my head with the bes> 
o' the breed, 
Though fluttering ever so braw , man. 
My coat and my vest, they are Scotch 
o' the best, 
O' pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, msn. 
And stockings and pumps to put on my 
stumps. 
And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', 
man. 
My sark« they are few, but five o' 
them new, 
Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, 
man, 
A ten-shiUing hat, a Holland cravat ; 
There are no mony poets sae braw, 
man. 
I never had frien's weel stockit in 

To leave me a hundred or twa, man ; 
Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on 
their drants. 
And wish them in hell for it a', man. 

I never was cannie for hoarding o' 

money. 

Or claughlin't' together at a', man ; 

I've little to spend, and naething to 

lend. 

But deevil a shilling I awe, man. 



THE HOLY FAIR.' 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd cnist, 

The dirk of Defamation : 

' Gathering. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in tho 
West of Scotland for a sacramental oc- 
casion. — R. B. 

Fergusson, in his "Hallow Fair" J 



WORKS OT BURNS. 



A mask that like tne gorget show'd, 
Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 

And for a mantle large and broad. 
He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hyp^risy H-la-mode. 

Upon a sinuner Sunday morn. 

When Nature's face is fair, 
r walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller ^ air. 
Tlie risin sun, owre Galston^ muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
rhe hares werehirpiin3 down the furs, 

The lav'rocks 4 they were chantin 
Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad. 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin 5 up the way. 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart * linin ; 
The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shinin, 

Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin. 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 
Their visage wither' d, lang, an' thin. 

An' sour as ony slaes -J 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp. 

As light as ony lambie,^ 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop. 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fn' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aflf, quoth I, "Sweet lass, 
I think ye seem to ken me ; 

I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face. 
But yet I canna name ye." 

Quo' she, an' laughing as she spak, 
An' taks me by the hands, 

Edinburgh, I believe, furnished a hint 
and title of the plan of the ' ' Holy Fair. " 
The farcical scene the poet there de- 
scribes was often a favourite field of his 
ubservation, and the most of the inci- 
tents he mentions had actually passed 
»efore his eyes. — G. B. 

• Fresh. 

* The adjoinii^ parish to Mauchline. 
3 Creeping. "* Larks, 

S Tripping. * Grav. 

'•Sl»e». 8 Lamb. 



'Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 
Of a' the ten commands 

A screed^ some day. 
" My name is Fun — ^your croiiie dear 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here. 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline H»ly Fair, 

To spend an hour in daffia : ^ 
Gin ye'U go there, yon nmlcl'd^ pair. 
We will get famous laughin 

At them this day." 
Quoth I, "With a' my heart, I'll do'< 

I'll get my Sunday sark* on, 
An meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin ! " 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,S 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
Wi' monie a wearie bodie. 

In droves that day. 
Here farmers gash,* in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin ^ by their cotters ; 
There, swankies 8 young, in braw braid- 
claith. 
Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang. 

In silks an' scarlets glitter; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a 
whang, 9 
An' farls,'° bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 
When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glc^vr Black Bonnet " throws. 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show. 
On ev'ry side the^re gath'rin. 
Some carryin dales, some chairs an 
stools. 
An' some are busy bleth'rin '* 
Right loud that day. 

^ A rent. ' Merriment. 

3 Wrinkled. 4 Shirt. 

5 Breakfast-time. 6 Wise. 

1 The motion of a countryman riding 
on a cart-horse. 

8 Strapping young fellows. 

9 String. "> Cakes of bread. 
'^ The Elder who holds the alm» 

dish. '"> Talking idly. 



Here stands e s>iwa to fend the show'rs. 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
there, racer Jess, an' twa-three w s, 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o' tittlin jades,^ 

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck. 
An' there a batch o' wabster^ lads, 

Blackgfuarding fra Kilmarnock 
For fun this day. 
Here, some are thinkin on their sins. 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd 3 his shins, 

Anither sighs an' praj's : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 4 

Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces ; 
On that a set o' chaps, at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 
O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's aia dear lass, that he likes best. 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck 

An's loof 5 upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

{fow a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
for Moodie^ speels' the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o damnation. 
Should Homie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 
The vera sight o' Hoodie's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 

He*r how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! 
Vow meekly calm, now wild in wrath. 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengtlien'd chin, his tum'd-up snout^ 

His eldritch 8 squeel an' gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters. 
On sic a day ! 



Whispering. ' Weaver. 

^ Soiled. ■♦ Sample. 

\ Palm of the hand. 

Minister of Riccart in. ' Climbs. 

Unearthly. 



But, hark ! the tent hiis chanj;'a its voice; 

There's peace and rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith opens out his cauld harangues^ 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 
A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs an' reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine. 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define. 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 
In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For Peebles,'' frae the Water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim3 has view'd it. 
While Common Sense has ta'en th« 
road. 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,'* 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Wee Miller,S neist, the Guard relieves. 

An' Orthodoxy raibles,^ 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie ^ wants a Manse, 

So cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafHins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now, butt an' ben,8 the Change-housa 
fills, 

Wi' yill-caup5 Commentators : 
Here's crjTng out for bakes ^" an' gills^ 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 

' Minister of Galston. 

' Minister of Newtown-upon-Ayr, of 
which the Water-fit was another name. 

3 Prim. 4 A street so called, which 
faces the ieni in [Mauchline.] — R. B. 

5 Assistant-preacher at Auchenlecic 

6 Rattles nonsense. 7 Clever fellow. 

8 Kitchen and parlour. 

9 Ale-cup. '■° Biscuits 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



While thick an' thiang, an' loud an' 
lang, 
W'" lofjac, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end, 
Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gie's us mail 

Than either School or College : 
St kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs'^ us fou o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep. 

Or ony stronger potien, 
1 1 never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle ^ up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content. 

An' steer 3 about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk. 

They're makin observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts. 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
AW echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black Russel ■♦ is na spairin : 
His piercing words, Uke Highlan 
swords. 

Divide the joints an' marrow; 
His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell. 

Our vera " sauls does harrow" 5 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin ^ brunstane, 
Vha's raging flame, an' scorching heat. 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! ^ 
I'lie half asleep start up wi' fear. 

An' think they hear it roarin, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 
Asleep that day. 



' Crams. " Tickle. 3 Stir. 

* Minister of Kilmarnock, and de- 
«t*ibed as equally awful in look and 
murage. 

5 Shakspeare's Hamlet.— R. B. 

6 Flaming. ' Whinstone. 



'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monie stories past. 
An' how they crowded to the r*Sj 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogsaa 
caups, 
Amang the furms and benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps 
Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dawds that day. 

In comes a gaucie,'^ gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck ^ an' her knife. 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays. 

An' gi'es them' t' like a tether, 
Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks ! 3 for him that gets nae lass 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie* his braw claithing ! 
O Wives be mindfu', ance yoursel 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattling tow. 

Begins to jowS an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they 
dow,6 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps 7 the billies halt a blink. 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink. 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day conveits 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, aw 
gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine. 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 



^ Jolly. = Cheese. 3 Waes an! 
4 SoiL S To peal or roar. 

6 Tfccy can. 7 Gates. 



4.n' monie jobs that day begin. 
May end in Houghmagandie ' 

Some ither day/ 



STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A 
FAVOURITE DAUGHTER.3 

WRITTEN IN 1792. 

Oh I sweet be thy sleep in the land of 
the grave. 
My dear little angel, for ever ; 
for ever !^-oh no ! let not man be a 
slave 
His hopes from existence to sever. 
rho' cold be the clay where thou pil- 
low'st thy head 
In the dark mansions of sorrow, 
fhe spring shall return to thy low nar- 
row Dcd, 
Like the beam of the day-star to- 



'fhe flower-stem shall bloom like thy 
sweet seraph form _ 
Ere the Spoiler had nipt thee in blos- 
som ; 
Wien thou shrunk from the scowl of 
the loud winter storm, 
And nestled thee close to that bosom. 
Oh, still I behold thee all lovely in 
death, 
Reclined on the lap of thy mother, 
When the tear trickled bright, when the 
short, stifled breath. 
Told how dear you were aye to each 
other. 
My child, thou art gone to the home of 
thy rest, 
Where suffering no longer can harm 

ye, 

Where the songs of the good, where the 
hymns of the blest. 
Thro' an endless existence shall 
charm thee : 

' Fornication. 

' Sharp diseases require sharp reme- 
i les ; and Bums' ridicule is said to 
have been of considerable use. 

3 The death of his beloved child took 
place duiing his temporary absence 
from home, on which occasion the above 
leart-speaking lines we»e written. 



While he, thy fond parent, must sigh- 
ing sojourn 
Thro' the dire desert regions of sor- 
row, 
O'er the hope and misfortune of beinf 
to mourn, 
Aiid sigh for life's latest morrow. 



DEATH AND DOCTOSL HORN- 
BOOK.' 

A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd; 
EVn Ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid,^ at times to vend, 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am going to tell. 
Which lately on a night befell, 
Is just as true's the Deil's in hell 

Or Dublin city ; 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 
The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I wasna fou, but just had plenty : 
I stachei'd 3 whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd 

Frae' ghaists an' witches. 
The rising moon began to g'owr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre , 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 
I was come round about the hill. 
And todlin down on Willie's mill. 
Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker ;< 
Tho' leeward whyles, against n-y will, 

I took a bicker. S 

" John Wilson, schoolmaster of Tar- 

bolton, who excited the anger of Bums 

by talking of his medical skill. Wilscn 

sold medicine and gave advice gratis. 

' Fib. 3 SLiggered 

■♦ Steady. S A shc»t course- 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



[ there wi' Something did forgather,* 
That put me in an eerie swither ;" 
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang ; 
A three-taed leister 3 on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa. 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a warned it had ava. 

And then its shanks. 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks.S 

*' Guid-een," quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye 

been mawin, 
When ither folk are busy sawin?" 6 
tt seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 
But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye 
gaun. 

Will ye go back?" 

It spak right howe'— "My name is 

Death, 
But be na fley'd."— Quoth I, "Guid 

faith, 
Ve're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent'' me, billie ; 
( red ye weel, tak care o' skaith,^ 

See, there's a gully ! "^° 

• Gudeman," quo' he, "put up your 

whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle " 
To be mislear'd,^^ 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 
Out-owre my beard." 

"Weel, weel ! " says I, "a bargain be't; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're 

gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat. 
Come, gies your news. 



' Meet. ^ Frighted wavering. 

3 Three-pronged dart. 4 Belly. 

5 A kind of wooden curb. 

6 This rencounter happened in seed- 
^e, 1785.— R. B. 

' Hollow. 8 Be careful. 9 Damage. 
" A large knife. " Difficult. 

" "Put out of my art." — Chambers. 



This while ^ ye hae oeen mony a gatA 
At mony a house." 

" Ay, ay ! " quo' he, an' shook his hea^ 
" It's e'en a lang, lang time, indeed, 
Sin' I began to nick the thread. 

An' choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Death. 
"Sax thousand years are near hand 

fled. 
Sin' I was to the hutching bred. 
An' mony a scheme in vam's been laid 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's^ ta'en up the trade^ 

An' faith, he'll waur3 me> 

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Cla- 

chan,4 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleu* 

chan ! S 
He's grown sae well acquaint wf 

Buchan ^ 

An' ither chaps. 
The weans baud out their fingers 



And pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a 

dart. 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
But Doctor Hornbook, Wi' his art 

And cursed skill. 
Has made them baith no worth a 

D— d haet they'll kill. 

" 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 

But deil-ma-care. 
It just playd dirl7 on the bane. 

But did nae mair. 

* An epidemical fever was then rag- 
ing in that country. — R. B. 

^ This gentleman. Dr. Hornbook, is, 
professionally, a brother of the Sove- 
reign Order of the Ferula ; but, by in- 
tuition and inspiration, is at once aa 
apothecary, surgeon, and physician.— 
R. B. 

3 Worse. 4 Small village, 

5 Tobacco-pouch. 

6 " Buchan's Domestic Medicine."— 
R. B. 7 A slight strok* 



"Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortif/d the part, 
rUat when I looked to my dart. 

It was sa£ blunt, 
Ficnt haet o't wad hae pierc'd the 
heart 

Of a kail-runt.' 

" I drew my scs^the in sic a fury, 
I Bear-hand cowpit ^ wi' my hurry. 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
! might as weel hae tryd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 
\.\d then, a' doctor's saws and whit- 
tles, 
or a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles. 

He's suie to hae; 
Their Latin names as fast he ratHes 

As A B C. 
"Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
rhe Farina of beans and pease. 

He has't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please. 

He can content ye. 

" Forbye some new, vmcommon wea- 
pons, 
Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 
Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrap- 
ings, 

Distiird_?>^r J?/ 
Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail clippings. 

And mony mae." 
"Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole 3 

now," 
Quo' I, "if that thae news be true ! 
His braw calf- ward whare gowans* 
grew, 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 
They'll ruin Johnnie !" 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh. 
And says, " Ye neednayoke the pleugh, 
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 
Tak ye nae fear : 



' A cabbage-root, 
• The grave-digger — R. 
Dailies. 



' Tumbled. 



I They'll a' be trench'd wi' mcny a 

sheugh ^ 

In twa-three year. 
" Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae-death," 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath. 
This night I'm free to tak my aith. 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith. 

By drap and pill. 
"An honest Wabster^ to his trade, 
Whase wife's twa nieves were scares 

weel-bred. 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair ; 
The wife slade* cannie to her bed. 

But ne'er spak mair. 
"A countra Laird had ta'en the batts,! 
Or some curmurring 6 in his guts. 
His only son for Hornbook sets. 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,' 

Was Laird himsel. 
"A bonnie lass, ye kend her name. 
Some ill-brewn drink had hoy'd^ her 

wame : 
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame 

In Hornbook's care : 
Horn sent her aff to her lang harne. 

To hide it there. 
"That's just a swatch 9 o' Hornbook't 

way; 
Thus goes he on from day to day. 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel pa^d for't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his d— d dirt. 
" But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ; 
I'll nail the self-conceited Sot 

As dead's a herrin ; 
Niest time we meet, I'll wad^° a grotn 

He gets his fairin ! " 
But just as he began to tell. 
The aulk kirk-hammer strak the beli 



' Ditoh. ' A death in bed 

3 Weaver. 4 Did slide. 

S Bots. 6 A rumbling. 

7 Two-year old sheep. * Swelled 

9 Sample. " Bet. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 
Which rais'd us baith : 

I lock the way that pleas'd mysel, 
And sae did Death. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 



The simple Bard, rough at the rustic 
plougli, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry 
bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow 
thrush ; 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the 
green thorn bush ; 

The soaring lark, the perching red- 
breast shrill. 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whist- 
ling o'er the hill ; 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly 
shed. 

To hardy independence bravely bred. 

By early poverty to hardship steel'd. 

And train'd to arms in stem Misfor- 
tune's field ; 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling 
crimes, 

The servile, mercenary Swiss of 
rhymes ? 

Or labour hard the panegyric close. 

With all the venal soul of dedicating 
Prose ? 

No 1 though his artless strains he rudely 
sings. 

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the 
strings, 

tie g?ows with all the spirit of the Bard, 

Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear 
reward. 

Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he 
trace, 

Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with 



grace; 

I Ballant 



When Ballantywe befriends his humble 

name, 
\nd hands the rustic .Stranger up to 

fame. 



With heartfelt throes his grateful hoson 

swells. 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on theii 

winter-hap. 
And thack ' and rape secure the to3 

won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings^ are snugged up frae 

skaith3 
O' comingWinter's biting, frosty brtith. 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their sununei 

toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious 

spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive 

waxen piles. 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er 

the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd-'' wi' brim- 
stone reek ; 
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry 

side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter 

wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by 

Nature's tie. 
Sires, mothers, children, in one car- 
nage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly 

bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, ruthlesi 

deeds!) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow 

springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert 

rings. 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling 

glee. 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half- 

lang tree : 
The hoary moms precede the sunnj 

days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the 

noontide blaze. 
While thick the gossamour waves wan- 
ton in the rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simplt 
Bard, 



' Thatch. 
3 Injury. 



' Potato heaps. 
< Smothered. 



C • iao'wn ind poor, simplicity's reward, 

f« >UR:ht, \Titlun the ancient brugh of 
Ayr, 

f\i» H'him '-ospir'd, or haply prest wi' 
care 

H ■« 'fft hij bed and took his wayward 
rout 

^' i down by Simpson's ' wheel'd the 
left about : 

^*r ether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

_'t>' ifitnesE what I ai'ter shall narrate ; 

0^ whether, /apt in meditation high, 

H J wander'd out he knew not where 
nor why : ) 

n t drowsy Dungeon clock ^ had num- 
ber'd two, 

Aiid Wallace Tow'r^ had sworn the 
fact was true ; 

rt e tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen-sound- 
ing roar, 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse 
along the shore : 

AJl else was hush'd as Nature's closed 
e'e ; 

THe silent moon shone high o'er tow'r 
and tree : 

n-a chilly frost, beneath the silver 
beam. 

Crept, gently-crusting, owre the glit- 
tering stream. — 
When, lo ! on either hand the list- 
'ning Bard, 

The clanging sugh* of whistling wings 
is heard ; 

Two dusky forms dart thro' the mid- 
night air, 

Bwift as the gosS drives on the wheel- 
ing hare ; 

Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape 
uprears. 

The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 

Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of AjT 
preside. 

/That Bards are second-sighted is nae 
joke, 

' A noted tavern at the Auld Brig 
l!md.— R. B. 

^ In the old prison of Ayr. 

3 Which formerly stood is. the High- 
.ireet. 

* A rushing sound of wina. 

S The gos-hawk, oi falcon.— R. B. 



And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can 

explain them. 
And even the vera deils they brawly 

ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear" d o' ancient Pictish 

race. 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd 

lang. 
Yet, teughly ' doure, he bade an unco 

bang. 
New Brig was buskit,^ in a braw new 

coat, 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got , 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's 

a bead, 
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums 3 at the 

head. 
The Goth was stalking round with 

anxious search. 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry 

arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took 

his e'e. 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had 

he! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish 

mien. 
He down the water, gieshim tlus guid- 

een : * — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, Frien', ye'U think ye're nae 

sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank 

to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith ! that date, I doubt, ye'll 

never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a 

bodle,S 
Some fewer whigmeleeries^ in youi 

noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little 
raense,' 
Just much about it wi' your scanty 
sense ; 

' Toughly stout. * Dressed. 

3 Useless ornaments. 

4 Good evening. S A small gold coin 
6 Fan<uos. 7 Giod manners. 



WORKS OF SU/<NS. 



Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a 

street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble 

when they meet, 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and 

lime, 
Cinipare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modem 

time? 
Theie's men of taste wou'd tak the 

Ducat-strean.,' 
Tho they sh juld cast the vera sark and 

swim, 
Eire they wo ild grate their feehngs wi' 

the view 
O sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! ' pufif'd up wi' 

windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood 

an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair for- 

fairn,3 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless 

cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye 

better, 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day 

rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the 

plains : 
When from the hills where springs the 

brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mo«sy fountains boil, 
Oi where the Greenock winds his 

moorland course. 
Or haunted Garpal "♦ draws his feeble 

source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting 

thowes.S 



' A noted ford, just above the Auld 
Brig.— R. B. 

" A term of contempt ; fool. 

3 Distressed. 

'' The banks of Garpal Water is one 
»f the few places in the West of Scot- 
,anj where those fancy-scaring beings, 
known by the name of g;haists, still con- 
tinue pertinaciously to inhabit. — R. B. 

5 Thaws. 



In mony a torrent down hi i snaw- broo" 

rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the rood 

ing speat,* 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' M 

the gate ; 
And from Glenbuck,3 down to tilt 

Ratton-key,'* 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, iMmbi 

ling sea ; 
Then down ye'U hurl, deil nor ye never 

rise ! 
And dash the gumlieS jaups^ up tc 

the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost. 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 



NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, 
must say't o't ! 



I need* 



The Lord be thankit that we've tint 
the gate o't ! ' 

Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 

Hanging with threat'ning jut, like pre- 
cipices : 

O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspii'ag 
coves. 

Supporting roofs fantastic, stoitV 
groves : 

Windows and doors in nameless sculp- 
tures drest. 

With order, symmetry, or taste un- 
blest ; 

Forms like some bedlam Statuarf'4 
dream. 

The craz'd creations of misguided 
whim ; 

Forms might be worshipp'd on the 
bended knee. 

And still the second dread command 
be free. 

Their likeness is not found on earth, 
in air, or sea. 

Mansions that would disgrace the build- 
ing taste 

Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 

' Snow-water. * Torrent. 

3 The source of the River Ayr.— 
R. B. 

■* A small landing-place above. th« 
large key. — R. B. 

5 Muddy. 6 Jerks of water. 

7 Lost tb e way of it. 



fit. only for a doited monkish race, 

Or frosty maids forsworn the dear em- 
brace ; 

O cuifs ' of later times, wha held the 
notion 

That sullen gloom was sterling, true 
devotion ; 

Fancies that our guid Brugh^ denies 
protection. 

And soon may they expire, unblest 
with resurrection ! 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember" d, ancient 
yearlings, 3 

Were ye but here to share my wounded 
feelings ! 

Ve worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 

Wha in the paths o' righteousness did 
toil ay ; 

Ve dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Con- 
veeners, 

To whom our moderns are but causey- 
cleaners ! 

y.. godly Councils wha hae blest this 
town; 

yc godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 

Wha meekly gie your hurdles to the 
smiters ; 

And (what would now be strange) ye 
godly Writers : * 

A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the 
broo,S 

Were ye but here, what would ye say 
or do ! 

How would your spirits groan in deep 
vexation. 

To see each melancholy alteration ; 

♦jid agonizing, curse the time and place, 

Whea ye begat the base, degen'rate 
race ! 

Nae langer ReVrend Men, their coun- 
try's glory. 

In plain, braid Scots hold forth a plain, 
braid story ; 

Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 

Meet owre a pint, or in the Council- 
house ; 

But staumrel,6 corky-headed, graceless 
Gentry, 

' Blockheads. = Burgh. 

3 Coevals. 4 J^^ yers, S Water. 
* Half-witted. 



a^. IS 

The herryment' and ruin tf the coimtry, 
Men, three- parts made by Tailors and 

by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd^ gear on 

d — d new Brigs and Harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now haud you there ! for faith ye've 

said enough. 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to 

through ; 3 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but 

little. 
Corbies ** and Clergy are a shot right 

kittle : 
But, under favoin: o' your langer beard. 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be 

spar'd : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squads 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a 

handle 
To mouth "a Citizen," a term o' 

scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down 

the street. 
In all the pomp of i^orant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise prigginS ower 

hops an' raisins. 
Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and 

Seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random 

tramp, 
Had shor'd^ them wi' a glimmer of his 

lamp. 
And would to Common-sense for once 

betray'd them. 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kind-'y in t» 

aid them. 

What farther clishmaclaver' might 

been said. 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood 

to shed. 
No man can tell ; but all before theii 

sight 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream thej 

featly ^ danc'd ; 

^ Devastation. ' Well-saved. 

3 Make out. ^ Crows. 

S Cheapening. 6 Threatened. 

' Idle conversation. 8 Sprucely 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Bright to the moon their varices dresses 

glanc'd : 
They footed o'er Uie wat'ry glass so 

neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath 

their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them 

rung, 
And soul-ennoblirg Bards heroic ditties 

sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan,^ thairm'' inspir- 
ing sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band 

engage. 
When thro' his dear strathspeys they 

bore 'ivith Highland rage. 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melt- 
ing airs. 
The lover's raptured joys, or bleeding 

cares ; 
How would his Highland lug 3 been 

nobly fir'd. 
And eVn his matchless hand with finer 

touch inspir'd! 
No guess could tell what instrument 

appeared. 
But all the soul of Music's self was 

heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
■" s simple me ' ' 

the heart. 
The Genius of the Stream in front 

appears, 
A venerable chief, advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies 

crown'd. 
His manly leg with garter-tangle 4 

bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the 

ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand 

with Spring ; 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came 

Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming 

eye : 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing 

horn, 



* A well-known performer of Scottish 
lusic on the violin. — R, B. 
= Fiddle-string. 
3 Ear. * Sea-weed. 



Led yellow Amumn wreaih'd with nud 

ding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did 

hoary show, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow._ 
Next followed Courage with his martia. 

stride. 
From where the FeaP wild- woody 

coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant »ir, 
A Female form, canw from the tow'i s oi 

Stair : ^ 
Learning and Worth in equal measutea 

trode 
From simple Catrine,^ their long-lov'd 

abode : 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with 

a hazel wreath. 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken, iron instruments of death : 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgaii 

their kindling vn'ath. 



I'HE ORDINATION.4 

For sense, they little owe tc frugal 

HeaVn — 
To please the mob, they hide the 

little giv'n. 

Kilmarnock Wabsters,5 fidge a^ 
claw. 
An' pour your creeshie* nations ; 

' Feal is a small stream that ru«« 
near Coilsfield. 

" The allusion is to Mrs. Stewart, 
of Stair. 

3 On the banks of Ayr, where Pro- 
fessor Stewart resided, when not occ^j- 
pied by his work at Edinboro'. 

4 The "Ordination" grew out of a 
Kirk squabble, in Kilmarnock, betweeii- 
the "high-flying" and the "moderate" 
party, who were vanquished in the fray ; 
a high-flying minister having obtained 
the appointment. Burns endeavourtt? 
to console the defeated "moderates" 
with a vision of the expected ceremony. 
"Maggie Lauder," as we are vnfomiej 
by Bums, was the maiden name of Ci»« 
Rev. Mr. Lindsay's wife. 

5 Weavers. 6 Greasy. 



An' ye wha leather rax ' an' draw, 

Of a' denominations, 
Swith^ to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a'. 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to Begbie's in a raw,3 

An' pour divine libations. 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell. 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

An' Russel sair misca'd her ; 
This day M'Kinlay taks the flail. 

An' he's the boy will blaud "• her ! 
He'll clap a shanganS on her tail. 

An' set the bairns to daud^ her 
Wi' dht this day. 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre. 

An' lilt 7 wi' holy clangor : 
0' double verse come gie us four. 

An' skirl 8 up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,^ 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come let a proper text be read. 

An' touch it off wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham"^" leugh"^' at his 
Dad, 

Wliich made Canaan a niger :'^ 
Or Phineas ^3 drove the iriurdering blade 
' Wi' w — e-abhorrLng rigour ; 
Or Zipporah,'* the scauldin' jade. 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' Inn that day. 

Ibere, try his mettle on the creed. 
And bind him down wi' caution. 

That Stipend is a carnal weed 
He taks but for the fashion ; 



' Stretch. ^ Get away. 

3 Row. -• Slap. 

5 A stick cleft at one end. * Pelt. 

■• Sing. 8 Shriek. 9 Dust. 

•° Genesis ix. 22.— R. B. 
" Did laugh. " A negro. 

'^ Numbers xxv. 8.— R. B. 
« Exodus iv. 25.— R. B," 



An' gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 

And punish each transgression , 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin', 

Spare them nae day. 
Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 

An' toss thy hoi i^s fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte ^ out-owre tb 
dale. 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick an' wale,' 

No gie'n by way o' dainty. 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel streams we'll wsefl 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' timefu' cheep^^ 

And o'er the thairms * be tryin ; 
Oh rare ! to see our elbucks wheep,.' 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' aim,6 

Has shor'd the Kirk's imdoin. 
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn. 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man '■ Glencaim, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly, elect bairn. 

He's wal'd ' us out a true ane. 

And sound this day 

Now, Robinson, harangue nae mair. 

But steek 8 your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear. 

Ye may commence a Shaver ; 
Or to the Netherton' repair. 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day 

Mutrie and you were just a match, 
We never had sic twa drones : 

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch 
Just like a winkin baudrons.'" 

^ Bellow. ^ Choice. 3 Chirp 

4 Strings. 5 Elbows jerk 6 Iron 
7 Chosen. ' 8 Shut. 

9 A district of Kilmarnock. '° Cju 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Afld ay he catch'd the tither wretch. 
To fry them in his caudrons ; 

But now his Honor maun detach, 
Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons. 

Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld OrthodoxVs faes 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! 

I vow it's unco pretty ! 
rhere Learning, with his Greekish face. 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says. 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's MoraHty himsel. 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell. 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell. 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there, — they're packed aff to hell. 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter ; 
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys 

That Heresy can torture ; 
rhey'U gie her on a rape a hoyse ' 

And cowe^ her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin 3 in. 

And here's, for a conclusion. 
To every New Light '* mother's son. 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deaveS us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk,^ and, ev'ry skin. 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



* A pull upwards. ^ Lop. 

3 An English pint. 

4 New Light is a cant phrase, in the 
West of Scotland, for those religious 
Dpinions which Dr Taylor, of Norwich, 
las so strenuourly defended. — R. B. 

5 Deafen. * A match. 



TO THE RIGHT HON. CHARI,Ea 

JAMES FOX, 

(a political sketch, written in 

1789.) 

How wisdom and folly meet, mbc, and 

unite ; 
How virtue and vice blend their black 

and their white ; 
How genius, the illustrious father cl 

fiction. 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles 

contradiction — 
I sing: if these mortals, the critics, 

should bustle, 
I care not, not I — let the critics go 

whistle ! 

But now for a patron, whose name 

and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my 
story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our 

wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements 

seem mere lucky hits ; 
With knowledge so vast, and with 

judgment so strong. 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went 

far wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so 

bright. 
No man with the half of 'em e'er west 

quite right; — _ 
A sorry, poor misbegot son of tha 

Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man ? for as simple 

he looks. 
Do but try to develop his hooks and hii 

crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, bij 

good and his evil ; 
All in all he's a problem must puzzle the 

devil. 
On his one ruUng passion Sir Pop* 

hugely labours. 
That, hke the old Hebrew walking 

switch, eats up its neighbours. 
Mankind are his show-box — a fri«iad 

would you know him I 



Pun the string, ruling passion the pic- 
ture will show him. 

What pi.y, in rearing so beauteous a 
system, 

One trifling particular truth should have 
miss'd him ; 

For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, 

Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our quaUties each to its 

tribe, 
And think human nature they truly 

describe ; 
Have you found this, or t'other? there's 

more in the wind. 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades 

you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of 

the plan. 
In the make of that wonderful creature 

call'd man. 
No two virtues, whatever relation they 

claim. 
Nor even two different shades of the 

Though like as was ever twin brother 

to brother. 
Possessing the one shall imply you've 

the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce 
with a Muse, 

Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, sir, ne'er 
deign to peruse : 

Will you leave your justings, your jars, 
and your quarrels. 

Contending with Billy for proud-nod- 
ding laurels ? 

My much-honour'd patron, believe your 
poor poet, 

Vour courage much more than your 
prudence you show it ; 

In vain with Squire Billy for laurels 
you struggle, 

He'll have them by fair trade, if not, 
he will smuggle ; 

Not cabinets even of kings would con- 
ceal 'em. 

He'd up the back-stairs, and by God 
he would steal 'em. 

Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er 
can achieve 'em, 

U is not, outdo him, tlie task is out- 
thieve him. 



■'And they shall go forth, and grow up^ 

like CALVES of the stall." 
Right, Sir! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tho' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance ; there's yoursel just now 

God knows, an unco Calf ! 
And should some Patron be so kind. 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, sir, but then we'll find 

Ye're still as great a Stirk." 
But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, eVry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 3 
Tho', when some kind, connubial Deai^ 

Your But-and-ben't adorns. 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 
And, in your lug, most reverend James 

To hear you roar and rowte,S 
Few men o' sense\ will doubt yoa 
claims \ 

To rank amang the^Nowte.6 
And when ye're number'd wi' the dead. 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head— 

" Here lies a famous Bullock ! " 



STANZAS TO CLARINDA.' 
Clarinda, mistress of my souI,8 
The measured time is run ! 

' The Poem was nearly an extempor- 
aneous production on a wager that I 
would not produce a poem on the sub- 
ject in a given time. — R. B. 

* Bullock of a year old. 3 An ox. 

* Kitchen and parlour, 5 Bellow. 

6 Black cattle. 

7 "Written about 1788. Clarinda was 
the wife of Mr. M'Lehose, from whom 
she had been separated, but she appears 
to have had an ardent affection for 
Bums. Her maiden name was Agnea 
Craig. 

8 These stanzas appeared in the se- 
c6nd volume of the Musical Mitseutu 



fVOJi !CS OF BURNS. 



The wretch beneath the dreary pole 

So marks his latest sun. 
To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie 1 
Deprived of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy ! 
We part — but, by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall giiide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 
She, die fair sun of all her sex. 

Has blest my glorious day ; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray ? 



TO CLARINDA. 

WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINK- 
ING GLASSES. 

Fair empress of the poet's soul. 

And queen of poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon. 

This humble pair of glasses. 
And fill them high with generous juice. 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

" The whole of humankind ! " 
" To those who love us ! " — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A third — " To thee and me, love ! " 
Long may we live ! long may we love ! 

And long may we be happy ! 
And may we never want a glass 

Well charged with generous nappy ! 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.' 

Oh Prince ! Oh Chief of many throned 

pow'rs, 
That led th' embattled Seraphim to 

war — Milton. 

O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Homie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 



* It was, I think, in the winter, as 
we were going together with carts for 
(oal to the family fire (and I could yet 
toint out the particular spot), that the 



Wha in yon cavern gnm an' sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges ' about the brunstane cootie, ' 

To scaud poor wretches 
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deil 
To skelp3 an' scaud poor dogs Uke mc, 

An' hear us squeel ! 
Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ;* 
Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 
An', tho' yon lowin heugh's 5 thy hame^ 

Thou travels far ; 
An', faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur.^ 
Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion. 
For prey a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest 
flyin, 

Tirlin7 the kirks; 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin. 

Unseen thou lurks. 
I've heard my reverend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray. 
Nod to the moon. 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 
Wi' eldritch croon.8 



author first repeated to me the " Ad- 
dress to the Deil." The curious idea 
of such an address was suggested to 
him by running over in his mind the 
many ludicrous accounts and represent- 
ations we have from various quarters 
of this august personage. — G. B. 
^Dashest. ^Wooden dish. 3 Strike. 

4 The third stanza was originally 
Lang syne in Eden's happy scene. 
When strappin' Adam's days wer« 

green, 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, handsoma 
quean 

Wi' guileless heart. 

5 Flaming pit. 

6 Neither bashful nor apt to be s 

7 Uncovering. 

8 Frightful moait. 



Wiiei. twilight did luy Giatinie sum- | 

mon, 
To say her orayrs, douce, honest wo- 
man ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you 
bummin, ' 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries^ cdmin, 
Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin^ Ught, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ve, like a rash-bush, ■* stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve 5 did shake. 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stoor,^ quaick, 
quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa yti squatter' d, 7 like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks 8 grim, an' wither'd hags, 
lell how wi' you on ragweed 9 nags, 
Vbcy skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
\nd in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit '° dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn^^ in 

vain ; 
For, Oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit,'* twal-pint^3 Hawkie's 
gaen 

As yell's'4 the bill. ^S 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse. 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' 
arouse :'6 



' Htimming. 

® The shrub elder, common in the 
hedges of barn-yards. 
3 Slanting. 4 A bush of rush&s. 
S Fist. 6 Hoarse. ? Fluttered. 
8 Wizards. 9 Ragwort. 

" Digged up. " Churn. 
'* Fondled. ^3 Twelve-pint. 

^ Barren. '5 BuU. '6 Co'orageous. 



When the best wark-lume' i' tha 
house. 

By cantraip^ wit, 

Is instant made no worth a , 

Just at the bit. 
When thowes^ dissolve the snawy 

hoord,-* 
An' float the jinglin' icy-boord. 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord. 

By your direction, 
Al' nighted Trav'Uers are allor'd 

To their destruction. 
An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies i 
Decoy the wight that late an' drank is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkisa 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry sloi'gh he sunk is. 

Ne'er mair to rise. 
When Masons' mystic word an' grip. 
In storms an' tempests raise you up. 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stoft 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell. 
Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair' 4, 
An' all the soul of love they shaPd, 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r : 
Then you, yeauld, snec-drawing^ dog I 
Ye came to Paradise incog, 
An' played on man a cursed brogue,^ 

{Black be you fa !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog,8 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 
D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,' 
Wi' reekit duds,'° an' reestit gizz,^' 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz 

'Mang better folk. 
An' sklented ^' on the man of Uzz 

Your apitefu' joke I 
An' how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
An' brak him out o' house an' hal', 

' Working tool. " Magical. 

3 Thaws. 4 Hoard. 

S Will-o'-whisp. 6 Trick-contrivingi 
7 Trick. '3 Shock. ■• Bustle, 

*° Smoky clothes. " Stunte,^ «»rivrit 
" Piayed. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



WtiJe scabs an' llotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd' his ill-tongu'd, wicked 
Scawl,'^ 

Wast warst ava ? 3 
iiiit a' your doings to rehearse, 
Vour wily snares an' fechtin + fierce. 
Sic' that day Michaels did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad dingfi a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 
In prose or rhyme. 
An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're 

thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin 7 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 8 

An' cheat you yet. 
But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ve aiblins^ might— I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

EVn for your sake ! 



THE POET'S REPLY TO A 

GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT 

HIM A NEWSPAPER." 

Kind sir, I've read your paper through. 

And, faith, to me, 'twas really new ! 

How guess'd ye, sir, what maist I 
_ wanted 1 

This mony a day I've gran'd and 
gaunted 

To ken what French mischief was 
brewin', 

Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin'; 

That vile doup-skelper. Emperor Jo- 
seph, 

If Venus yet had got his nose off; 

dr how the coUieshangie works 

'Loosed. * Scold. 3 Of all. 

* Fighting. 

5 Vide Milton, Book vi.— R. B. 

6 Worst. 1 Tripping. 

" Dodging. 9 Perhaps. 

'" Written at ElUsland, in 1790, in the 
land year of his age. 



Atween the Russians and the Turks \ 

Or if the Swede, before he halt. 
Would play anither Charles the Twalt 
If Denmark, anybody spak o't ; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; 
How cut-throat Prussian blades wer« 

hingin'; 
How libbet Italy was singin'; 
If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 
Or how pur merry lads at hame, 
In Britain's court, kept up the game : 
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'e» 

Was managing St Stephen's quoi um ; 
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin'. 
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 
How Daddie Burke the plea was cook 

in'; 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin' 
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd. 
Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opeta 

girls ; 
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douse.- 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. 
A' this and mair I never heard of ; 
And but for you I might despaired of. 
So gratefu', back your news I send you. 
And pray, a' guid things may attend 

you ! 



THE FIRST KISS OF AFFEC- 
TION. 

Humid seal of soft affections, 
Tenderest pledge of future bliss. 

Dearest tie of young connections. 
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss J 

Speaking silence, dumb confession. 
Passion's birth and infant play. 

Dove-like fondness, chaste concession^ 
Glowing dawn of brighter day. 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action. 
When ling'ring lips no more mtut 
join. 

What words can ever speak affection 
So thrilling iind sincere as thine I 



THE DEATH AND DYING 
WORDS OF POOR MAILIE/ THE 
AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot^ she coost 3 a hitch/ 
An' owre she warsl'd 5 in the ditch : 
There groaning, dying, she did lie. 
When Hughoc 6 he cam doytin by. 
Wi' glowrin een, an' hfted ban's. 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended. 
But, waes my heart ! he could na 

mend it. 
He gaped wide, but naething spak. 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear. 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

"Tell him,. if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 

* The circumstances of the poor sheep 
were pretty much as he has described 
them ; he had, partly by way of frolic, 
bought a ewe and two lambs from a 
neighbour, and she was tethered in a 
field adjoining the house at Lochlie. He 
and I were going out with our teams, 
and our two younger brothers to drive 
for us, at mid-day ; when Hugh Wilson, 
a curious-looking, awkward boy, clad in 
plaiding, came to us, with much anxiety 
m his face, with the information that the 
ewe had entangled herself in the tether 
and was Ij'ing in the ditch. Robert was 
much tickled with Huoc's appearance 
ind postures on the occasion. Poor 
ftlailie was set to rights, and when we 
returned from the plough in the evening 
he repeated to me her " Death and 
Djang Words," pretty much in the way 
Aey now stand.— G. B. 

" Hoof. 3 Cast. * Lo&p. 

5 Wrestled. 

* A neibor herd-callan.— R. B. 



But ca' th(Ma J)ut to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flocks increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' wo<j '* 

" Tell him, he was a Master kin'. 
An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him, 

" O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend ^ themsel : 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' mom, 
Wi' teats 3 o' hay, an' ripps "* o' com. 

' ' An' may they never leam the gaets S 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu' 6 pets ! 
To slink thro' slaps,' an' reave 8 ait' 

steal. 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Forbears,' 
For mouie a year come thro' the shears ; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet ■'° for them when they'i* 
dead. 

"My poor toop-lamb," my son an 
heir, 
O, bid hirn breed him up wi' care ! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins '^ in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name ; 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' not to rin an' wear his cloots. 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

"An' niest my yowie,^^ silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop ^* an' mell,'3 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

"And now, my bairns, wi' my last 
breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mithe* 
Mind to be kind to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail. 



' Wool. _ " Live comfortably. 

3 Small quantities. * Handfuls. 

5 Ways. 6 Restless. 

' Gates, or breaks in fences. 

8 Rove. 9 Forefathers. '" Wcepi 

" Ram. '^ Good manners. 

'3 Ewe. '♦ Nibble. 'S M«4dl* 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



To tell my Masier a' my tale ; 
An' bid Inm burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my 
blather." ^ 
This said,poor Mailie tum'd her head. 
Aw' clcr'd her een amang the dead ! 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lainent in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Oiir Bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
The last, sad cape-stane ^ of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's dead ! 
It's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie,3 wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear. 

In Mailie dead. 
Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kmdly bleat, when she did spy him. 

She ran wi' speed : 
Afriend mairfaithfu' ne'er cam nigh him 

Than Mailie dead. 
I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 
I'll sayt, she never brak a fence. 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence * 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 
Or, if he wanders up the howe,6 
Her living image, in her yowe. 
Comes bleating to him owre the knowe,^ 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 
She was nae get o' moorland tips, 3 
Wi' tawted* ket, an' hairy hips ; 
For her forbears were brought in ships, 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips * 

Than MaiUe dead. 

' Bladder. * Copestone. 
5 Worn with grief. * Parlour. 

I Dell. 6 Hillock. ? Rams. 

Matt°«l wool. 5 Sheers. 



Wae worth the man ivha first did shar4 
That vile, wanchancie ^ thing — a rape I 
It maksguid fellows girn- an' gape, 

Wi' chokin dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 
O, a' ye Bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters 3 tune 
Come, join the melancholious crocs'* 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mails* sJead \ 



TO JAMES SMITH. S 

Friendship ! mysterious cement of th» 
soul ! 

Sweet'ner of Life, and solder ot So- 
ciety ! 

I owe thee much. — Blair. 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie^ thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef ' 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 8 

Against your arts. 
For me, I swear by sun and moon. 
And eVry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And eVry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 
That auld, capricious carlin,^ Natiu-e, 
To mak amends for scrimpit '° stature. 
She's turn'd you afF, a human creature 

On her first plan. 
And in her freaks, on eVry feature. 

She's wrote, " The Man." 
Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme. 
My barmie noddle's working prime. 
My fancie yerkit" up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

' Unlucky. ' (irin. 

3 Parts of bagpipes. ''■ Moas, 

5 Smith kept a shop in Mauchline. 

6 Cunning. 7 Wizard spell. sprod 
9 Old woman. ^° Scanty. '' I»Lshed 



S )me rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 
Borne rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' 

cash ; 
Seme rhyme to court the cdbtra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; ' 
I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An' d — d my fortune to the groat ; 

But, in requit, 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent. 
To try my fate in guid, black prent ; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent. 

Something cries, " Hoolie !^ 
I red 3 you, honest man, tak tent ! 
Ye'll shaw your folly. 

" There's ither poets, much your bet- 
ters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensur'd their 
debtors, 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters. 
Their unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs. 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy 
ploughs 

Are whistling thrang. 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on, wi' tentless* heed 
Kmr never-lialting moments speed. 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me vvath th' inglorious dead. 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale ? 

{ust now we're living, sound an' hale ; 
'hen top and maintop crowd the sail. 

Heave Care o'er side ! 
ind large, before Enjoyment's gale, 
Let's tak the tide. 



Caie for. 
' I warn you 



* Gently. 
' Heedless. 



This life, sae far's I understand,' 

Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 

Where pleasure is the magic wand. 

That, wielded right. 
Males hours like minutes, hand in hand 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an' -forty's speel'd," 
Sea, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face. 
Comes hostin,3 hirplin'* owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the 

gloamin. 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
Au' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear deluding woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning 1 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away. 
Like school-boys, at th' expected 
warning. 

To joy and play. 
We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

" Among the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear. 

Short while it grieves. 
Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot. 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat. 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

' In your epistle to J. S., the stanzas, 
from that beginning with this line, 
" This life," &c. to that which ends with, 
" Short wliile it grieves," are easy, 
flowing, gaily philosophical, and ol 
Horatian elegance. The language is 
English, with a few Scottish wordsj 
and some of those so harmonious as t6 
add to the beauty ; for what poet would 
not prefer glomjtingta twilight? — Dr. 
Moore, June lo, 1789. 

" Climbed. 3 Coughing. * Limping 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



With steady Aim, soiJie Fortune chase . 
Keen Hope does eVry sinew brace ; 
rhro' fair, tliro' foul» they urge the race. 

And seize the prey : 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 
And others, like your humble servan'. 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads ob- 

servin' ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin', 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin'. 

They aften groan. 
Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining— 
But truce wi' peevish, poor complain- 
ing ! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang I 
Beneath what light she has remaining. 

Le?s sing our sang. 



pen I here flmg 
kneel, "Ye Pc 



'ow'rs !" and 



" Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 

In all her climes. 
Grant me but this, I ask no more. 

Ay rowth^ o' rhymes. 
"Gie drceping'' roasts to coimtra 

Lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards 

And Maids of Honour ; 
And yill 3 and whisky gie to Cairds 4 

Until they sconner.S 
" A Title, Dempster 6 merits it : 
A Garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
Gie Wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 

In cent per cent ; 
But gie me real, sterlmg Wit, 

And I'm content. 
" While Ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,' 

Wi' cheerfu' face. 



* Plenty. ' Dropping. 3 Ale. 
< Tinkers. S Loathe. 

6 An active Member of Parliament, 
who died in i8i8. 

7 BrotLnade of water, shelled barley, 
and greens. 



As bug's the Muses dinna fail 
To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 

Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 

I jouk"^ beneath Misfortune's blowe 
As weel's I may ; 

Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose. 
I rhyme away. 

ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
G^ve, tideless-blooded, calm and cod 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pcol, 

Your lives, a dyke ! 
Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces 
In yom- unletter'd, nameless faces ' 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray. 
But gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 
Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wjse> 
Nae ferly^ tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam 3 boy ., 

The rattling squad : 

1 see you upward cast yoiu- eyes — 

Ye ken the road. — 
Whilst I— but I shall baud me there— 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair. 

But quat* my sang, 
Comtefct with You to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



THE POET'S DREAM.S 

GuiD-MORNiN to your Majesty ! 
May heaven augment your blisses, 

» Stoop, 

' An expression of contempt. 

3 Thoughtless. * Quit. 

S Written in 1786, in the 28th year 
of his age. At this period the Rev 
Thomas Wartop filled the office ol 
Poet Laureate. Burns informs us that 
on reading in the public papers the 
Laureate's " Ode," with the other pa- 
rade of June 4, 1786, he dropt asleep, 
ar i then imagined himself transported 



tm ^t'fj ts k birth-day ye see, 

A numble Poet wishes ! 
My Hardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Ts sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang thae Birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 
I see ye're complimented thrang. 

By many a lord an' lady ; 
" God save the King ! " 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel tum'd and ready. 
Wad gar' you trow ye ne'er dowrang. 

But ay tmerring steady, 

On sic a day. 
For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

EVn there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place. 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on Your Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 

And aiblins^ ane been better 

Than You this day. 
Tis very true, my sovereign King, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But Facts are cheels3 that winna ding,'* 

An' downaS be disputed : 
Your Royal nest, beneath Your wing. 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 6 
And now the third part of the string. 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 
Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation. 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire. 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye've trusted Ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,' 

Wad better filled their station 

Than courts yon day. 



to the Birth-day Levee ; and in his 
dreaming fancy, made the following 
Ax)DRESS. * Make. 

" Perhaps. ^ Young fellows. 

* Will not be beaten. S Cannot. 

6 Torn and patched ; the allusion is 
"a ihe separation of America. 

' Cow stable. 



And now ye've gien auld Britain peace 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece. 

Till she has scarce a tester : 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster. 
Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost ^ to pasture 

I' the craft ^ some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,* 

A name not envy spairges,)-* 
That he intends to pay your debt 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, God's sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 
Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geckS 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may Ye rax 6 Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect. 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect. 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great Birth-day. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please Ye, 
Will Ye accept a compUment 

A simple Poet gies Ye ? 
Thae bonny baimtime, HeaVn has .ent. 

Still higher may they heeze? Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release Ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young Potentate o' Wales, 
I tell your Highness fairly, 

Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelltng 
sails, 
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 

But some day ye may gnaw your naiU 
An' curse your folly sairly. 

That e'er ye brak D' 

tA 



a's pales. 



Or /attl'd dice wi' CharlieS 

By night or day. , 



^ Must needs. 
3 Child. 
5 Exult. 
'Raise. 



' Field. 
* Bemiresn 
> StEetch. 
8 Mr Fox 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Vet afi a ragged cowte's' been known 

To nialf a noble aiver;'* 
Sae, ye may doucely fill a Throne, 

For a' theii clish-ma-claver : 3 
There, Him'* at Agincourt wha shone. 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,S 

He was an unco shaver 6 

For monie a day. 
For yoa, right reVrend Osnaburg,^ 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeves sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughtyS dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! ' an' get a wife to hug. 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the Mitre 
Some luckless day. 
Young, royal Tarry Breeks,^° I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley,'''^ stem and stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple aim,^'' 

An', large upon her quarter, 

Come full that day. 
Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a'. 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw. 

An' gie you lads a plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa'. 

For Kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German Gentles are but sma'. 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 
God bless you a' ! consider now 

Ye're unco muckle dautet : '3 
But, ere the course o' life be through. 

It n\ay be bitter sautet : 

' Colt. = Cart-horse. 3 idle talk. 

4 King Henry V.— R. B. 

5 Sir John Falstaff: vide Shakspeare. 
-V R. B. 6 Wag. 

' Osnaburg gave the title of Bishop 
to the second son of George III. 

S Proijd. 9 Get away. 

*° Tht Royal " Breeks " was the 
">• ike of Clarence. 

*^ Alluding tc> **ie newspaper account 
»f a certain Roya** sailor's amour. — R.B. 

" Iron. '3 Caressed. 



eircogpeM 



An' I hae seen their 

That yet hae tarrow't^at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow. 

The laggen3 they hae clautet * 

Fu' clean that day. 



LINES TO A PAINTER, 

WHOM BURNS FOUND AT WORK Oil k 
PICTURE OF JACOB'S DREAM, 

Dear , I'll gie ye some advice. 

You'll tak it no uncivil ; 
You shouldna' paint at angels mair,S 

But try and paint the devil. 
To paint an angel's kittle wark,6 

Wi' auld Nick there's less danger ; 
You'll easy draw a weel-kent face. 

But no sae weel a stranger. 



VERSES ON A WAG IN 
MAUCHLINE.7 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands »'■, 
He often did assist ye ; 

For had ye staid whole years awa', 
Yoiu: wives they ne'er had miss'd y«, 

Ye Mauchline baims,^ as on ye pas* 
To school in bands thegither. 

Oh tread ye lightly on his grass- 
Perhaps he was your father. 



THE VISION. 

duan first.9 
The sun had closed the winter day. 
The Curlers'^" quat their roarin play. 
And hunger'd Maukin ^^ taen her way 
To kail-yards green, 

' Little wooden dish. * Murmuret?. 

3 The angle between the side and 
bottom of the dish. . ^ Scraped. 

S More. 6 Ticklish work. 

^ James Smith. 8 Children. 

9 Duan, a term of Ossian's for the 
different divisions of a digressive poem 
See his " Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of 
M'Pherson's translation. — R. B. 

^° Players at a game on the ice, call«i4 
curling. ^' Haie. 



V'ule fiMIess snaws ilk step betray 
Where she has been. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
Vhe lee-lang day had tired me ; 
Vnd when the day had clos'd his e'e. 

Far i' the wast, 
Ben i' the Spence/ right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek. 

The auld, clay biggin f 
An' heard the restless rattons^ squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
1' backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime. 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, liae led a market 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half- 
sarkitt 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mtitt'ring, blockhead ! coof !S 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,^ 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith. 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme- 
proof 

Till my last breath — 

When, click ! the string the snick ^ did 

draw; 
Ai.d, jee ! the door gaed to the wa'; 
And by m.y ingle-loweS I saw,_ 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw. 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whist ; ' 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht; 



' The parlour. " House. 

' Rats. 4 Half-provided with shirts. 
S Ninny. 

• Thickened or stained palm. 7 Latch. 

* Hearth-flame. 9 Silence, 



I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, sh^ 
blusht. 

And stepped ben.' 
Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu',round her brow i, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop those reckless vows. 

Would soon been broken. 
A " hair-brain' d, sentimental trace,'" 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n tum'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honour, 
Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen ; 
Till half a leg was scrimply^ seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 
Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingli».^, 
threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well-known land. 
Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There,mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the 
coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 
Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch d 

floods ; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds;* 
Auld hermit AyrstawS thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 
Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race. 



' Struck down. 

3 Partly. * Sounds. 



" Inward. 
5 Did steal 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



To ev .y n>blei virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace, 

,3y stately toVr or palace fair. 

Or ruins pendent in the air. 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
^me seem'd to muse, some seem'd to 
dare. 

With features stem. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a Race heroic wheel. 

And brandish round the deep-d^d steel 

In sturdy blows : 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Country's Saviour,'* mark him 

well! 
Bold Richardton's3 heroic swell ; 
The Chief on Sark4 who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
Atid he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade S 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial Race, portray'd 

In colours strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 



» The Wallaces.— R. B. 
« William Wallace.— R. B. 

3 Adam Wallace, of Richarton, cousin 
of the immortal preserver of Scottish 
independence. — R. B. 

4 Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was 
second in command, under Douglas 
Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle 
on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. 
That glorious victory was principally 
owing to the judicious conduct and in- 
trepid valour of the gallant Laird of 
Craigie, who died of his wounds after 
the action. — R. B. 

5 Coilus, King of the Picts, from 
«vhom the district of Kyle is said to take 
its name, lies buried, as tradition says, 
near the family-seat of the Montgo- 
Oieries ofCoilsfield, where his biuial- 
place is still shown. — R. B. 



Thro' many a wild, romantic gron. 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Lotw. 

In musing mood,) 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 
With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned Sire and Son I saw,^ 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw . 

That, to adore. 
Brydone's brave Ward 3 I well cotJd 

spy, 

Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on. 
Where many a Patriot name on high. 

And Hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heav'nly-seemin,' Fair ; 



ly- 

A whisp'ring throb did witness bear. 
Of kindred sweet. 

When with an elder Sister's ait- 
She did me greet. 

" All hail ! my own inspired Ba» a ! 

In me thy native Muse regard 1 

Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 
_ Thus poorly low ! 

I come to give thee such reward 
As we bestow. 

" Know, the great Genius of this L>wa 

Has many a light, aerial band. 

Who, all beneath his high commanu. 
Harmoniously, 

As Arts or Arms they understand. 
Their labours ply. 

" They Scotia's Race !»mong thea 
share ; 

Some fire the Soldier on to dare : 

Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 
Corruption's heart : 

Some teach the Bard, a darling care^ 
The tuneful art. 

■' Barskimming, the aeat of the \»Ju 
Lord Justice Clerk [Miller].— R. B. 

' Catrine.tbc scat of the lateDort<* 
and pre»>eB.t Professor Stewart — • ^ 

3 Colc^.»• Fullarton.— R. B 



I\EMS. 



'Muag svcUiig floods of reeking 
gore, 
rb ;y, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar, 

Thej', sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 
" And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
rhey bind the \vild, Poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page- 
Full on the eye. 
" Hence, FuUarton, the brave and 

young ; 
Hence, Dempster's zeal-ins,-ured 

tongue ; 
Hence, sweet harmonious BeatLS sung 

His ' Minstrel lays,' 
Or tore, with nfcle ardour stung. 

The Sceptic's bays. 
" To lower orders are assign'd 
rhe humbler ranks of human-kind. 
The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

The Artisan : 
All chuse, as various they're inclin'd. 

The various man. 
'' When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
The threat'ning storm some, strongly, 

rein ; 
Some tftach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 
" Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; 
Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil. 

For humble gains. 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district-space. 
Explore at large Man's infant race, 
lo mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic Bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 
" Of these am I — Coila my name ; 
And this district as mine I claim, 
Wliere once the Campbells, chiefs of 
fame. 

Held ruling pow'r: 



I mark'd thy embtyo-tuneful fla^ie. 

Thy natal hour. 
" With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways. 
Thy rudely-caroU'd, chiming phrase. 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fjr'd at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 
" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I sav/ grim Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy yoimg eye. 
" Or when the deep green-mantl'd 

Earth 
Warm-cherish'd eVry flow'ret's birth. 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boimdless love. 
" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys. 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 
" When youthful Love, warm-blushing 

strong. 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along. 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song. 

To soothe thy flame. 
" I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray. 

By Passion driven ; 
But yet the Ught that led astray 

Was Ught from Heaven. 
" I taught thy manners-painting strain*. 
The loves, the ways of simple swaiiM- 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plaiiis, 

Become thy friends. 
" Thou canst not learn, nor can I sho% 
To paint with Thomson's landscapi 

glow ; 
Or wake the bosom-meltiiig tbrue. 

With ShenstoiM's art 

O 8 



WORKS OF BURN'S. 



flow 



Or p&or, with Gray, the moving 
Warm on the heart, 

" Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose. 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine. 

Nor Kings' regard. 
Can give a bliss o'ennatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one, — 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the dignity of Man, 

With Soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

"And wear thou this" — she solemn 

said. 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In Ught away. 



LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS- 
CARSE HERMITAGE.^ 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed. 
Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
Grave these counsels on thy soul : — 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprvmg from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
fear not clouds will always lour. 



' The beautiful residence of Captain 
Riddell, near EUisland, who was a kind 
friend of the poet. These lines, whi^h 
appeared in 1788, were an amended 
version of one written in 17S3. 



As Youth and Love, with fprigtttl} 

dance, 
Beneath thy morning-star advance. 
Pleasure, with her siren air. 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enj oyment's cup^ 
Then raptured sip, and sip it up. 
As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh. 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst tkoj 

scale ? 
Check thy climbing step, elate. 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Dangers, eagle-pinion' d, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful Peace, with linnet son?. 
Chants the lowly dells among. 
As the shades of eveimig close, 
Beckoning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and 

wrought : 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience sage and sou«d : 
Say, man's true, genuine estimate. 
The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not — ^Art thou high or low f 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow 1 
Wast thou cottager or king ? 
Peer or peasant ? — no such thing ! 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one T 
Tell them, and press it on their min.i, 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heaven 
To Virtue or to Vice is given. 
Say, " To be just, and kind, and wis^ 
There solid Self-enjoyment lies; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base.' 
Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake 
Night, where dawn shall never break. 
Till future life — future no more — 
To light and joy the good restore. 
To light and joy luikuown before ! 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quoth the beadsman of Nithside. 



UNDRESS rO THE UNCO GUID, 
OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule. 

And lump them aye thegither ; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool. 

The Rigid Wise anither : 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May liae some pyles o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o' dafhn. 

Soloi7ion. — Eccles. vii. i6. 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ve've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your Neebour's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi' store o' water, 
I'he heapet happer's ebbing still. 

And still the clap plays clatter. 
Hear me, ye venerable Core,"^ 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's 
door. 

For glaikit^ Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences. 
Their donsie^ tricks, their black mis- 
takes. 

Their failings and mischances. 
Ve see your state wi' theirs compar'd 

And shudder at the niffer,'^ 
But cast a moment's fair regard. 

What maks the mighty differ 1 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in. 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Yoiu: better art o' hidin'. 
Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What raging must his veins convulse. 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way : 
But in the te^.th o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 
See Social life and Glee sit down. 

All joyous and unthinking. 



' Corps. 
Unlucky 



Careless. 
4 Exchange. 



Ti'-.. quite transmuaiir''ii. ^Axft% 
grown 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calcuSte 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded hell to stats. 

Damnation of expenses !* 
Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names. 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear loVd lad, convenience snug 

A treacherous inclination — 
But let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins ^ nae temptation. 
Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennie^ wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark. 

The moving Why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far perhaps they rue it. 
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us. 
He knows each chord — its various totcQ 

Each spring — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute. 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute 

But know not what's resisted. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. ■» 

An honest man's the noblest work 
of Q,o&.—Pope. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deiit 
Or great M'Kinlay S thrawn his heel ! 

' Transformed. * May be. 

3 Small matter. 

^ When this worthy old sportsmaa 
went out last muir-fowl season, he sup- 
posed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, 
" the last of his fields ; " and expressed 
an ardent wish to die and be buried in 
the muirs. On this hint the author com- 
posed his Elegy and Epitaph.— R. B. 

S A certain preacher, a great favourite 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Or Robinson* again grown weel. 

To preach an' read ? 
" Na, waur than a' ! " cries ilka chiel, 

"Tarn Samson's dead !" 
K-ilmamock lang may grunt an' grane. 
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane,^ 
Ka' deed 3 her bairns, man, wife, an' 
wean. 

In mourning weed ; 
To Death she's dearly paid the kane,4 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
The Brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in woefu'_ bevel, 
ft^hile by their nose the tears will revel. 

Like ony bead ; 
I )eath's gien the Lodge an unco devel, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Wben Winter muffles up his cloak. 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
He was the king o' a' the Core, 
To guard, oy draw, or wick a bore. 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-score,5 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Now safe the stately Sawmont* sail, 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail. 
And Eels weel ken'd for souple tail. 

And Geds for greed. 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks? a' ; 
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw ; 8 
Ye Maukins,5 cock your fud '° fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 



with the million. — ^Vide The Ordination, 
stanza ii. — R. B. 

^ Another preacher, an equal favour- 
ite with the few, who was at that time 
ftiling. For him, see also The Ordina- 
tion, stanza ix. — R. B. 

' Hersell alone. 3 Clothe. "* Rent. 

5 A distance line in curling, drawn 
tcross the ritiA, 6 Salmon. 

7 Partridges. 8 Cheerfully crow. 

» Hares. " Tail. 



Your mortal Fae is now awa ,— 

Tam Samson's dead \ 
That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith ' adorn'd. 
While pointers round impatient bum'<t 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, Och ! he gaed and ne'er retum'd 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
In vain auld age his body batters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 
In vain the bums cam' down like waters. 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

" Tam Samson's dead !" 
Owre mony a weary hag he limpit. 
An' aye the tither shot he thumpit. 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit 

Wi' deadly feide ;^ 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
When at his heart he felt the dagger. 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
"Lord, five !" he cryd, an' owre did 
stagger • 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father, 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Bums has wrote, in rhyming 
blether, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest; 

To hatch and breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

lam Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wavt 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead. 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

HeaVn rest his saul, whare'er he be I 
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me : 

' Dress • Fwd. 



Ho *»ad twa. faults, or maybe three. 
Yet what remead 1 

Am social, honest man want we : 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

THE EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson's weel-wom clay here lies, 
Tc canting zealots, spare himl 

If honest worth in heaven rise, 
\ e'll mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA.^ 

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly 
rhro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,* 
Tel ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin. 
For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg 
gullio.s 

Tam Samson's livin ! 



THE TREE OF LIBERTY.* 

Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 

I watna what's the name o't ; 
Around it a' the patriots dance, 

Weel Europe kens the fame o't. 
It stands where ance the Bastile stood, 

A prison built by kings, man. 
When Superstition's hellish brood 

Kept France in leading-strings, man. 
Upon this tree there grows sic fruit. 

Its virtues a' can tell, man ; 
It raises man aboon the brute. 

It maks him ken himsel, man. 
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit. 

He's greater than a lord, man. 
And wi' the beggar shares a mite 

Of a' he can afford, man. 



' The "Per Contra" was a peace- 
offering to the old sportsman, angry at 
his poetical dissolution. Bums retired 
to the window m Tarn's apartment for 
a few minutes, and returned with this 
stanza on liis lips. 

' Killie is a phrase the country-folks 
sometimes use for the name of a certain 
towji in the west [Kilmarnock]i — R. B. 

3 Sharp knife. 

* Written in 1794, and first printed 
in Chambers's edition of Burns' works, 
in 1838. 



This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth. 

To comfort us 'twas sent, man : 
To gie the sweetest blush o' health. 

And mak us a' content, man. 
It clears the een, it cheers the heart, 

Maks high and low guid friends, man; 
And he wha acts the traitor's part 

It to perdition sends, man. 
My blessings aye attend the chiel 

Wha pitied GaUia's slaves, man. 
And staw ' a branch, spite o' the deil 

Frae yont the western waves, man. 
Fair Virtue water' d it wi' care. 

And now she sees wi' pride, man, 
How weel it buds and blossoms there, 

Its branches spreading wide, man. 
But vicious folk aye hate to see 

The works o' Virtue thrive, man ; 
The courtly vermin's bann'd the tree. 

And grat^ to see it thrive, man ; 
King Louis thought to cut it down 

When it was unco sma', man ; 
For this the watchman crack'd hit 
crown. 

Cut aff his head and a', man. 
A wicked crew syne,^ on a time. 

Did tak a solemn aith, man. 
It ne'er should flourish to its prime, 

I wat they pledged their faith, man ; 
Awa' they gaed, wi' mock parade. 

Like beagles hunting game, man. 
But soon grew weary o' the trade. 

And wish'd they'd been at hame, man 
For Freedom, standing by the tree. 

Her sons did loudly ca', man ; 
She sang a sang o' liberty. 

Which pleased them ane and a', man. 
By her inspired, the new-born race 

Soon drew the avenging steel, man ( 
The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase^ 

And ban^d the despot weel, man. 

Let Britain boast her hardy oak. 

Her poplar and her pine, man, 
Auld Britain ance could crack her jokft 

And o'er her neighbours shine, maa 
But seek the forest round and round, 

Andsoon 'twill be agreed, man, 
That sic a tree cannot be found 

'Twixt London and the Tweed, man, 



Stole. 



Wept. 



aiUa. 



WORKS OP BURNS. 



^ithoat this tree, alake, this life 

Is but a vale o' woe, man ; 
A. scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 

Nae real joys we know, man. 
We labour soon, we labour late. 

To feed the titled knave, man ; 
And a' the comfort we're to get 

Is that ayont the grave, man. 
Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow. 

The warld would live in peace, man ; 
The sword would help to mak a plough. 

The din o' war wad cease, man. 
Like brethren in a common cause, 

We'd on each other smile, man ; 
And equal rights and equal laws 

Wad gladden every isle, man. 
Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat 

Sic halesome dainty cheer, man ; 
I'd gie my shoon frae alF my feet. 

To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. 
Syne let hs pray, auld England may 

Sure plant this far-famed tree, man ; 
And blithe we'll sing, and hail the day 

That gives us liberty, man. 



HALLOWEEN.' 

The following Poem will, by many 
readers, be well enough understood ; 
but for the sake of those who are un- 
acquainted with the manners and tra- 
ditions of the country where the scene 
.fe cast, notes are added, to give some 
account of the principal charms and 

E;lls of that night, so big with pro- 
ecy to the peasantry in the west of 
otland. The passion of prying into 
futurity makes a striking part of the 
history of human nature, in its rude 
state, in all ages and nations ; and it 
may be some entertainment to a phi- 
losophic mind, if any such should hon- 

' Halloween is thought to be a night 
when witches, devils, and other mis- 
chief-making beings are all abroad on 
their baneful, midnight errands ; par- 
ticularly those aerial people, the fairies, 
are said on that night to hold a grand 
•BniTcrsary. — R B. 



our the Author with a perusal, to set 
the remains of it, among the more uil< 
enlightened in our own. — R. B. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud 

_ disdain. 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train 
To me more dear, congenial to mj 

heart. 
One native charm, than all the gJ- w 

of art. — Goldsmith. 

Upon that night, when Fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans^ dance. 
Or owre the lays,^ in splendid blaze. 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the route is ta'en. 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the Cove 3 to stray an' ravt, 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night. 
Amang the bonnie, winding banks. 

Where Doon rins, wimplin,'* clear. 
Where Bruce 5 ance rul'd the martial 
ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, contra folks. 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits,^ an' pou thail 
stocks,^ 

An' hand their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 

The lasses feat,8 an' cleanly neat, 
Mair braw than when they're fine ; 

Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,' 
Hearts leal, an" warm, an' kin ; 

' Certain little, romantic, rocky, 
green hills, in the neighbourhood of 
the ancient seat of the Earls of Cas- 
silis.— R. B. ^ Fields. 

3 A noted cavern near Colean-house, 
called the Cove of Colean ; which, as 
well as Cassilis Downans, is famea in 
country story for being a favourite 
haimt of fairies. — R. B. 

4 Meandering. 

5 The famous family of that name^ 



the ancestors of Robert, the great de- 
; Earl! ' 

Carrick. — R. . 



liverer of his country, were Karls of 



6 Nuts. 7 Pants of kail. 

8 Spruce. 5 Shewn. 



Ihe lads sae trig, ' wi' wooer-babs,'' 
Weel knotted on their garten, 

Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 
Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 
Whyles fast at night. 

rhen, first, an' foremost, thro' the kail. 
Their stocks 3 maun a' be sought 
ance : 
They steek their een., an' grape + an' 
waIe,S 
For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 
Poor haVrelS Will fell atf the drift. 
An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail,^ 
An' pow't,8 for want o' better shift, 
A nmt* was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't ^° that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird'^ or 
nane. 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; '^ 
The vera wee things, toddlin, rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the custocs ^^ sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs''* they taste them ; 



* Smart. 

' Garters knotted with loops. 

3 The fir&t ceremony of Halloween 
is, pulling each a stock, or plant of 
kail. They must go out, hand in hand, 
with eyes shut, and pull the first they 
meet with. Its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the 
size and shape of the grand object of 
all their spells — the husband or wife. 
If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, 
that is tocher, or fortune ; and the 
taste of the custoc, that is, the heart 
of the stem, is indicative of the natural 
temper and disposition. Lastly, the 
stems, or, to give them their ordinary 
appellation, the runts, are placed some- 
where above the head of the door ; and 
ihe Christian names of the people whom 
thanes brings into the house, are, ac- 
tording to the priority of placing the 
iunts, the names in question. — R. B. 

* Grope. 5 Choose. 6 Half-witted. 
7 Cabbage. 8 Pulled. 

* A cabbage stem. ^^ Crooked. 
" Earth. ^^ In confusion. 

* Hearts of steins. ^* Kn ives . 



Syne coziely/ aboon the door, 
Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 
To he that night. 

The lasses staw^ frae' mang them a? 

To pou their stalks o' corn ; 3 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks 4 about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirled a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost. 

When kiutlin 5 in the fause-house* 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet' 
n:'ts8 

Are round an' round divided. 
An' monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : _ 
Some kindle, couthie,^ side by side. 

An' bum thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride. 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 
Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie" e'e ; 
Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 



' Snugly. " Steal. 

3 They go to the barn-yard, and pull 
each, at three several times, a stalk oi 
oats. If the_ third stalk wants the top- 
pickle, that is, the grain at the top of 
the stalk, the party in question will 
come to the marriage-bed anything but 
a maid.— R. B. 

4 Dodges. S Cuddling. 

6 When the corn is in a doubtful 
state, by being too green, or wet, the 
stack-builder, by means of old timber, 
&c., makes a large apartment in his 
stack, with an opening in the side which 
is fairest exposed to the wind : this he 
calls a fause-house. — R, B. 

7 Well-hoarded. 

8 Burning the nuts is a famous charm. 
They name the lad and the lass to 
each particular nut, as they lay them 
in the fire ; and accordingly as they bum 
quietly together, or start from besi it 
one another, the course and issue ol 
the courtship will be. — R. B. 

9 Loving. '° Cautiouit 



WORKS OP BURNS. 



But th/s is Jo ;k, and this is mt. 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him. 

As they wad never mair part ; 
rill, fuff ! he started up the lum,' 

As! Jean had e'en a sair heart 
To see't that night. 
Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie ' MaOie, 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,3 

To be compared to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 

Ajq' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor'* by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 
Nell had the fause-house in her min',5 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join. 

Till white in ase 6 they're sobbin ; 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view ; 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 
Rob, stownlins,' prie'd 8 her bonnie mou, 

?u' cozie in the neuk for't. 

Unseen that night. 
But Merran sat behint their backs. 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
Sh'lea'esS them gashin at their cracks. 

An' slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest tales. 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks,^" 

And in the blue-clue ^^ throws then. 
Right fear"! that night. 



' The chimney. ' Demure. 

3 Pet. 4 Swore. S Mind. 

6 Ashes. ^ By stealth. 

8 Tasted. 9 Leaves. 

'° Cross-beams. 

'' Whoever would with success try 
this spell, must strictly observe these 
directions : — Steal out, all alone, to the 
fciln, and, darkling, throw into the pot 
ft clue of blue yam ; wind it in a new 
clue off the old one ; and, towards the 
latter end, something will hold the 
thread ; demand, Wha hands ? z. e. 
who holds ? an answer will be returned 
from the kiln-pot, by naming the 
Christian and surname of your future 



An' aye she win't, an' ay she swat. 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; ' 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid Lord ! but she was quaukial* 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en'. 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier 3 that night. 

Wee Jennie to her Grannie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me, Grannie 1 
I'll eat the apple '^ at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnie : " 
She fuff't S her pipe wi' sic a lunt,* 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin. 
She notic't na, an aizle ^ brunt 

Her braw new worset * apron 
Out thro' that night. 
"Ye little skelpie 9-limmer's face ! 

I daur you try sic sportin, 
As seek the foul Thief onie place, 

For him to spae ^° your fortune ; 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight \ 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten fright. 

An' liVd an' di'd deleerit,'' 
On sic a night. 
" Ae Hairst'^ afore the Sherra-moor, '' 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey'-'* then, I'm sure 

I was na past fyfteen : 
The simmer had been cauld aL.' wai. 

An' stuiF was unco green ; 
An' ay_ a rantin kirn we gat. 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 



' Dallying. * Quaking. 3 Inquire, 

4 Take a candle, and go alone to a 
looking-glass ; eat an apple before it, 
and some traditions say, you should 
comb your hair all the time ; the face 
of your conjugal companion, to be, wiU 
be seen in' the glass, as if peeping ovef 
your shoulder. — R. B. 

5 Did blow. 6 Column of smoke. 
^ Hot cinder. 8 Worsted. 

9 A word of scolding. ™ Prophesy 
" Delirious. ^^ Harvest. 

'3 Sheriflf-moor, the battle fought la 
the Rebellion, 1715. 
'4 A romping girL 



"•Our stibble-ng* was Rab M'Graen, 

A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean. 

That liv'd in Auchmacalla ; 
He gat hemp-seed,^ I mind it weel, 

An' he made unco light o't ; 
But monie a day viss by himsel. 

He was sae sairly frighted 
That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience. 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the 
pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him. 
An' tryt that night. 
He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin : ^ 
The gi'aip '* he for a harrow taks. 

An' haurlsS at his curpin : 6 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass. 

Come after me, an' draw thee 
As fast this night." 
He whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march. 

To keep his courage cheary ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae flpyd ' an' eerie : 



•^ Head reaper. 

' Steal out unperceived, and sow a 
handful of hemp-seed ; harrowing it 
with any thing you can conveniently 
draw after you. Repeat now and then, 
" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I 
saw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be 
my true-love, come after me and pou 
thee." Look over your left shoulder, 
md you will see the appearance of the 
jjerson invoked, in the attitude of pull- 
ing hemp. Some traditions say, " Come 
after me, and shaw thee," that is, show 
thyself: in which case it simply appears. 
Others omit the harrowing, and say, 
" Come after me, and harrow thee." — 
M..B. 

3 Frightened. ■* Stable fork. 

« Drags. 6 Cnippe* 7 Scared. 



Till presently he hears a squeak. 
An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 

He, by his shouther gae a keek,' 
An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle^ 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout. 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld came rinnia out. 

An' hear the sad narration ; 
He swoor 'twas hilchin3 Jean M'Craw. 

Or crouchie * Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' : 

An' wha was it but Grumphie 
AsteerS that night ! 

Meg fain wad to the bam hae gaen 

To winn three wechts o' naething ; 
But for to meet the Dell her lane. 

She put but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits. 

And twa red-cheekit apples. 
To watch, while for the bam she sets. 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That vera night. 

She tums the key, wi' caraiie thraw. 
An' owre the threshold ventures : 

But first on Sawnie gies a ca'. 
Syne bauldly in she enters ; 

A ratton? rattl'd up the wa'. 

An' she cry'd. Lord preserve her ! 



' A peep. ^ Stagger. 3 Halting. 

* Crook-backed. 5 Abroad. 

6 This charm must likewise be per- 
formed unperceived, and alone. You 
go to the bam, and open both doors, 
taking them off the hinges, if possible ; 
for there is danger, that the being, 
about to appear, may shut the doors, 
and do you some mischief. Then takf 
that instrument used in winnowing th», 
com, which, in our country dialect, we 
call a wecht ; and go through all the 
attitudes of letting down com against 
the wind. Repeat it three times ; and 
the third time an apparition will pass 
through the barn, in at the windy door, 
and out at the other, having both the 
figure in question, and the appearance 
or retinue, marking the empjoyment ot 
station in life. — R. B. 

' Rat. 



fVORKS OF BURNS. 



An' ran thro' midden-hole ' an' a'. 
An' priy'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 
Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy"!^ out Will, wi' sair advice ; 

They hecht 3 him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't "* thriceS 

Was timmer 6-propt from thrawin : 
He talcs a swirlie,? auld moss-oak. 

For some black grousome Carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, 8 an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes ' cam haurlin 

AfF's nieves '^° that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was. 

As cantie^' as a kittlen ; 
But, Och ! that night, amang the 
shaws,'^ 
She got a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the wins, an' by the cairn. 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a 
burn, '3 
To dip her left sark-sleeve in. 
Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays. 
As thro' the glen it whimpl't : 

Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 
Whyles in a wiel^* it dimpl't ; 

* Gutter at the bottom of a dung-hill. 
" Urged. 3 Pbretold. 4 Fathomed. 

5 Tate an opportunity of going, un- 
noticed, to a bean-stack, and fathom it 
three times round. The last fathom of 
tiie last time you will catch in your 
«nns the appearance of your future 
conjugal yoke-fellow. — R. B. 

6 Timber. ^ Knotty. 8 Oath. 
9 Shreds. " Fists. '' Merry. 
"Woods. 

*3 You go out, one or more, (for this is 
, tocial spell,) to a south running spring 
Mr rivulet, where " three lairds' lands 
■aeet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. 
Go to bed in sight of a fire and hang 
your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie 
awake ; and some time near midnight, 
an apparition, having the exact figure 
of the grand object in question, will 
come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry 
fte other side of it.— R. B. 

** Small whirlpool, or edd^ 



Whyles glitter'd to the niglitly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the brasi 

Below the spreading hazei. 

Unseen that night. 
Amang the brachens,^ on the brae. 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler Quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 3 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav' rock-height she jumpit. 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs 5 she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 
In order, on the clean hearth-stane. 

The luggies 6 three ^ are ranged ; 
And eVry time great care is ta'en. 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar's-year did desire. 
Because he gat the toom ^ dish thrice. 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 
Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes. 

Their sports were cheap an' cheary 
Till butter'd So'ns,9 wi' fragrant liuit," 

Set a' their gabs '' a steerin ; "-^ 



' Appeared and vanished. 

* Fern. 3 A deep moan. 

4 Leaped out of the case. 5 Ears. 

6 Small wooden dishes with handles. 

7 Take three dishes ; put clean watei 
in one, foul water in another, leave the 
third empty : blindfold a person, and 
lead him to the hearth where the dishes 
are ranged ; he (or she) dips the left 
hand : if by chance in the clean water, 
the future husband or wife will come to 
the bar of matrimony, a maid : if in tha 
foul, a widow : if in the empty dish, it 
foretells, with equal certainty, no mar- 
riage at all. It is repeated three times ; 
and every time the arrangement of the 
dishes is altered.— R. B. 8 Empty. 

9 Sowens, with butter instead of milk 
to them, is always the Halloween Su'> 
per. — R. B. Sowens is a kind of oai( 
meal pudding. '° Smoke. 

"' Mouths. '* A-stirrinij, 



B/ne, wi' a sockl glass o' strunt,' 
They parted afFcareerin^ 

Fu' blythe that night. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS.3 

A CANTATA. 
RECITATIVO. 

Wkbn lyart* leaves bestrew the yird. 
Or, wavering like the bauckie 5 bird. 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte. 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch6 drest ; 

^ Spirituous liquor of any kind. 

' Cheerfully. 

3 Sir Walter Scott was unable to con- 
ceive any good reason why Dr. Currie 
did not introduce this Cantata into his 
collection. For humorous description 
and nice discrimination of character, 
he thought it inferior to no poem of the 
same length in the whole range of Eng- 
lish verse ; and the mirth of the songs, 
combined with the vividness of the pic- 
tures, he considered to be unequalled. 
This is very exaggerated praise ; and 
few readers, I should suppose, will ad- 
mit the truth of Scott's remark, that 
" even in describing the movements of 
such a group, the native taste of the 
poet has never suffered his pen to slide 
into anything coarse or disgusting." 
See Scott's " Prose Works," xvii. 244. 
Mr. Lockhart is yet more profuse of 
Rdmiration, and doubts if Shakspeare, 
out of such materials, could have con- 
structed a piece, " in which the sympa- 
thy-awakening power could have been 
displayed more triumphantly." And 
Allan Cunningham outstrips his prede- 
cessors, by affirming that " nothing in 
the language, in life and character, 
approaches this song." The Beggar's 
tSpera" being a " burial, compared tj 
it. I Surely this is the bunesque of cri- 
ticism, and only brings 't into contempt. 

'* Discoloured. S Bat. 

' Hoar-frost. 



Ae night, at e'en, a merry core 

C randie, gangrel ' bodies. 
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,* 
To drink their orra duddies : 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sangr; 
Wi' jumping and thumping. 
The vera girdle 3 rang. 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags. 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae and blankets warm ; 

She blinket on her sodger ; 
An' aye he gies the tozie* drab 

The tither skelpin 5 kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab,6 
Just like an aumous dish ; ^ 
Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whup. 
Then staggering, and swaggeringj 
He roar'd this ditty up— 



TUNE — SOLDIER'S JOY." 

I AM a son of Mars, who have been in 

many wars. 
And show my cuts and scars wherever 

I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that 

other in a trench. 
When welcoming the French at th« 

sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my lead* 

er breath'd his last. 
When the bloody die was cast on thti 

heights of Abram ; 8 
I serVd out my trade when the gallant 

game was pla^d. 
And the Moro' low was laid at tha 

sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

' Vagrant. ^ Frohc. 

3 The iron plate for baking cakes. 

4 Tipsy. S Slapping. 6 Mouth, 
^ The beggar's alms-dish. 

8 Quebec, where Wolfe fell. 
^ A Spanish castle taken by the Eng 
lish army, in 1762. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



with Curtis, among the 
batt'ries. 



I lastly wa 

floating 
And there I left for witnesses an arm 

and a limb : 
Vet let my country need me, with 

Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound 

of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now, though I must beg, with a 
wooden arm and leg, 

Asid many a tatter'd rag hanging over 
my bum, 

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bot- 
tle, and my callet. 

As when I us'd in scarlet to follow the 
drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must 
stand the winter shocks. 

Beneath the woods and rocks, often- 
times for a home ; 

When the tother bag I sell, and the 
tother bottle tell, 

I could meet a troop of h — at the sound 
of the drum. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars ^ sheuk 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rations^ backward leuk. 

And seek the benmost 3 bore : 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 

He skirled out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 



TUNE- 



AIR. 

'soldier laddie.' 



1 OHCE was a maid, tho' I cannot tell 

when. 
And still my delight is in proper young 

men : 
Ssme one of a troop of dragoons was 

my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

" Rats. 3 Innermost. 



The first of my loves was a swaggering 

blade. 
To rattle the thundering drum was hi* 

trade ; 
His leg was so tight, anii his cheek 

was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodges 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the goodly old chaplain left him is 

the lurch, 
So the sword I forsook for the sake of 

the church ; 
He ventured the soul, and I ritked tb« 

body, 
'Twas then I proved false to my sodgM 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of the sanctified 

sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I 

got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I 

was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &a 

But the peace it reduced me to beg in 

despair. 
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham 

fair; 
His rags regimental they fluttered so 

gaudy. 
My heart it rej«!»"c'd at my sodger 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

And :<vw I have liv'd — I know not how 

long, 
And still I can join in a cup or a song 
But whilst with both hands I can hold 

the glass steady. 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodga 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk. 
Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 

They mind't na wha the chorus took. 
Between themselves they were SM 
bizzy ; 



lU Kngth, wi' drink and courting dizzy. 
He stoitered ' up an' made a face ; 

rhen tum'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy, 
Syne tan'd his pipes wi' grave gri- 
mace. 

AIR. 
T(XNE — " AULD SIR SIMON." 

S?R Wisdom's a fool when he's fou. 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 
He's there but a 'prentice I trow, 

Cut I am a fool by profession. 
My grannie she bought me a beuk. 

And I held awa to the school ; 
I fear I my talent misteuk, 

But what will ye hae of a fool ? 
For drink I would venture my neck ; 

A hizzie's the half o' my craft ; 
But what could ye other expect. 

Of ane that's avowedly daft? 
I ance was tyd up like a stirk,^ 

For civilly swearing and quaffing ; 
I ance was aoused i' the kirk, 

For touzling a lass i' my daffin.3 
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport. 

Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 
There's eVn, I'm tauld, i' the Court, 

A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 
Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad 

Maks faces to tickle the mob ; 
He rails^at our mountebank squad. 

It's rivalship just i' the job. 
And now my conclusion I'll tell. 

For faith I'm confoundedly dry ; 
The chisl that's a fool for himsel', 

Gude Lord, is far dafter than I. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,* 
J^a kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling. 
For monie a pnrsie she had hooked. 
And had in monie a well been ducked ; 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie. 
But weary fa the waefu' woodie !S 
WV sighs and sabs, she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman : 

* Staggered. 

' Bullock. 3 Merriment. 

♦ Stout old wcman, 5 Rope. 



A Highland lad my love was bom. 
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faithful to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 



Sing, hey, my braw John High- 
landman ! 

Sing, ho, my braw John Highland- 
man ! 

There's no a lad in a' the Ian' 

Was match for my John Highland- 



With his philibeg an' tartan plaid. 
And gude claymore down by his side. 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lawlan face he feared nane. 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c 

They banish'd him beyond the sea. 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran. 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the lasl^ 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every ane, 
1 he^ve hang'd my braw John High- 
landman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No lomfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to diiddle." 



' Play. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Her strappin limb and ga-acy' middle 

(He reach'd nae higher), 
Had holed his heartie like a riddle, 

And blawn't on fire. 
Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, ane, twa, three. 
Then, in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set a£F, wi' Allegretto glee. 

His giga solo. 



TUNE — "whistle O ER THE LAVE 

o't." 

Let me ryke^ up to dight^ that tear. 
And go wi' me and be my dear. 
And then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade. 
And a' the tunes that e'er I pla^d. 
The sweetest still to wife or maid. 
Was whistle o'er the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there. 
And oh ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about, till Daddie Care 

Sings Whistle owre the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 
Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke,^ 
And sun oursels about the dyke. 
And at our leisure, when ye like. 

We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 
But bless me wi' your heaVn o' charms, 
^nd while I kittle S hair on thairms. 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms. 

May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caitd,^ 
As well as poor gut-scraper ; 

He talcs the fiddler by the beard. 
And draws a rusty rapier — 



:«^ 



» Reach, 
'ipe. 4 Pick. 

SWmle I apply hair to catgut. — 
Chambers. 6 Gipsy. 



He swoor, by a' was swearing wortl^ 

To speet him like a pliver. 
Unless he wad from that time fortk 
Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended. 
And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face^ 

And sae the quarrel ended. 

But tho' his little heart did grieve 
When round the tinkler prest her. 

He feign'd to snirtle' in his sleeve. 
When thus the Caird address'd her , 



TUNE — CLOUT THE CAUDRON. 

Mv bonnie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travell'd round all Christian grouno 

In this my occupation ; 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroU'd 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I 
march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imi, 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin, 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron ; 
And by that stoup, my faith and houp, 

And by that dear Kilbagie,' 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant. 

May I ne'er weet my craigie.3 

And by that stoup, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The Caird prevail' d—th' unblushing fait 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partlj' wi' love o'ercome sae sair. 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That show'd a man o' spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair. 

And made the bottle clunk. 

To their health that night 



■ Laugh, 



' A peculiar sort of wbiik^ 

3 Throat. 



BHt hurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie,* 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Aliint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft, 

The' limping wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd' up, and lap like daft. 

And shor'ds them Dainty Davie 
O' boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Xho' Fortune sair upon him laid. 

His heart she ever raiss'd it. 
He had nae wish, but — to be glad. 

Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
He hated nought but — to be sad. 

And thus the Muse suggested 
His sang that night. 

AIK. 

TUNK — "for a' that, and a' THAT.' 

I AM a bard of no regard 
Wi' gentlefolks, an' a' that ; 

But Homer-like, the glowrin byke,'' 
Frae town to town I draw that. 



For a' that, and a' that. 
And twice as meikle's a' that ; 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 
I've wife enough for a' that. 

I nevei drank the Muses' stank,5 
CastaUa's burn, an' a' that : 

But there it streams, and richly reams. 
My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

In raptnres sweet, this hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, an' a' that ; 

put for how lang the flie may stang. 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 



' Trick. " Crept. 3 Threatened. 
■ crowd. S Pool. 



Their tricks and craft hae put me daft. 
They've ta'en me in, and a' that ; 

But clear your decks, and " Here's 
the Sex ! " 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, and a' that. 
And twice as meikle's a' that. 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid. 
They're welcome till't, for a' that 



RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie'a' wa'« 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth ; 
They toom'd ^ their pocks, an' pawn'd 

their duds, 3 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds * 

To quench their lowanS drouth. 

Then owre again, th£ jovial thrang 

The poet did request. 
To loose his pack, an' wale 6 a sang, 
A ballad o' the best ; 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found the^ 
Impatient for the chorus. 



TUNK — "JOLLY MORTALS, FILL VOUB 
GLASSES," 

Sep, ! the smoking bowl before us, 
Mark our jovial ragged ring ; 

Round and round take up the chortis, 
And in raptures let us sing : 



' Poosie Nansie, otherwise Agiiei 
Gibson, kept a sort of cadger's house, 
nearly opposite to the church-yard 
gate in Mauchline. We are told by 
the biographers of Bums, that passing 
by the house, one night, in the com- 
pany of James Smith, he was allured 
by the mirthful uproar to go in and join 
the crew. The Cantata gives the x«" 
etical experience of the night. 

' Emptied. " '^ 

5 Flaming. 



3 Rags. " * Tails. 
eChoose. 



WORKS OF Bl/RjVS. 



A fig for those by law protected ! 

Libertys a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected. 

Churches built to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

*Tis no matter how or where ! 

A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable. 
Round we wander all the day ; 

And at night, in bam or stable. 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Thro' the country lighter rove ? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love 1 
A fig, &c. 

Life is all a variorum, _ 
We regard not how it goes ; 

Lei them cant about decorum 
Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets 1 
Here's to all the wandering train ! 

Here's our ragged brats and callets ! 
One and all cry out. Amen ! 

A fig, &c. 



IMPROMPTU 

MJDRESSED TO A VOUNG LADY IN A 
CHURCH WHO WAS ENGAGED IN 
SEARCHING FOR A TEXT GIVEN OUT 
BY THE MINISTER, WHICH CONTAIN- 
ED A SEVERE DENUNCIATION ON 
OBSTINATE SINNERS. 

Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 

Nor idle texts pursue ; 
Twas g-uilty sinners that he meant, 

Nrt angtls such as you I 



CASTLE GORDON.' 

Streams that glide in orient plainly 
Never bound by winter's chains ! 
Glowing here on golden sands. 
There commix'd with foulest stains 



From tyranny's empurpled hands : 
These, their richly-gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly lav** 

The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay. 
Shading from the burning ray 

Hapless wretches sold to toil. 
Or the ruthless native's way. 

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil ; 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave ; 
Give me the groves that lofty brav« 

The storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here, without control. 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 

In that sober pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul. 

She plants the forest, pours the flood. 
Life's poor day I'll musin rave, 
And find at night a shelt'ring cave. 
Where waters flow and wild woods 
wave. 

By bonnie Castle Gordon. 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW- 
YEAR MORNING SALUTA- 
TION TO HIS AULD MARE 
MAGGIE, ON GIVING HER 
THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF 
CORN TO HANSEL IN THB 
NEW YEAR. 

A GUiD New- Year I wish thee, Mag- 



gie ! 
theres 



Hae, there's a ripp' to thy auld bag- 
gie: 

' Written after a brief visit, in 1787 
to Gordon Castle, the seat of the Dtikl 
of Gordon. " Handful. 



n»o' thou's howe-backit^ now, an' 
knaggie,^ 

I've seen the day. 
Thou could hae gane like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 
rho' now thou's do\vie,3 stiff, an' crazy. 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, an' glaizie, 

A bonnie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to 
raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 
■"Thou ance wa-; i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly,'* steeve, S an' swank,^ 
An' set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread jdrd ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,' 

Like onie bird. 
It's now some nine-an'-twenty year. 
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere • 
He gied mt thee, o' tocher 8 clear. 

An' fifty mark ; 
rho' it was sma', 'twas weel won gear, 

An' thou was stark.9 
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' furmie. 

Ye ne'er was donsie ;^° 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, cannie. 

An' unco sonsie.'^ 
That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride. 
When ye bure '^ hame my bonnie bride; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
ICyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 
Tho' now ye dow'^S but hoyte and 

hobble. 
An' wintle hke a saumont-coble,''* 
That day ye was a jinker noble. 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble,'5 

Far, far behin'. 

* Svmk in the back. ^ Sharp-pointed. 
' Worn out. 4 Stout-made. 

S Strong-set. 6 Stately. ' Morass. 
" Marriage portion, ' Stout. 

** Unlucky. *^ Easily handled. 

• Did bKai. ^3 Can. 

» Salmi^n fiahing boat. ^S Reel. 



When thou an' I were young and 

skeigh,' 
An' stable-meals at fairs were dteigh," 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an 
skreigh 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abaigh,' 
An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mel- 
low, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses 4 thou had ne'er a fellow. 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pa^t them hollow, 
Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't,? hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins^ waur't thee for a brat- 
tle;? 
But sax Scotch miles thou try*! thek 
mettle. 

An' gart them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 
O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',8 

As e'er in tug 9 or tow'° was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun. 

On guid March-weathej, 
Hae tum'd sax rood beside our han'. 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't,'^ an' fech't,^^ an 

fliskit,^3 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit. 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fUl'd 
brisket, 

Wi' pith an' pow'r. 
Till spritty knowes'4 wad rair't and 
riskit. 

An' slypet^S owre. 



* High-mettled. " Tedious. 
3 At a safe distance. 

* A broose is a race at a wedding. 

5 That droops at the crupper. 

6 Perhaps. ' Short race. 

8 The near horse of the hindmost pail 
in the plough. 

9 Traces of hide. ^° Rope. 

" Plunged forward. " Pulled by fiu 
'3 Fretted. '4 Rushy hillocks. 

'S FeU over. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



WheR frosts lay lang, an' snaws were 

deep, 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog^ a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 

I kjn'd my Maggie wadna sleep 

For that, or simmer, 

Ib cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest* brae thou wad hae face't 

it; 
Thou never lap,3 an' sten't,* and 
breastit. 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit. 
Thou snooVtS awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' : 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbyp sax mae, I've sell't awa. 

That thou has nurst : 
They drew me thretteen^ pund an' twa. 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk^ we twa hae 

wrought. 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Vet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart,^ I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
tVe'll toyte 9 about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hain'd^° rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax '"■ your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



' Manger. * Steepest. 

3 Leaped. ^ Reared. 

5 Went at an even pace. 

6 Thirteen. ^ Day's labour. 

8 Eighth part of a bushel. » Totter. 
" Spared. " Strefh. 



TO A MOUSE, ON lURNINO 
HER UP IN HER NEST, WIIH 
THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 

1785.' 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastw, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! " 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle ! ' 
I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union. 
An' justifies that ill opinion. 

Which makes thee st^ls 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may 

thieve ; 
What then? poor beastie, thou maua 

live ! 
A daimen-icker4 in a thrave 

'S a sma' request S 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave. 

And never miss't ! 
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin } 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin i 
An' naething, now, to big 5 a new one, 

O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell* an' keen ! 
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste. 
An' weary winter comin fast. 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast. 

Thou thought to dwell. 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 



^ A farm-servant, lately living, wa» 
driving the plough, which Bums held, 
when a mouse ran across the field. 
The man's first impulse was to rush 
after and kill it ; but the poet stopped 
him, and soon turning thoughtful, th* 
verses were conceived and bom. 

* Hurry. 

3 Instrument for clearing the plough 

* An ear of com now and Ihea; j 
thrave is twenty-four sheaves. 

S Build. 6 Bitter. 



that wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble j 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's tum'd out, for a' thy trou- 
ble, 

Bat house or hald," 
To thole ' the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch3 cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,4 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men. 

Gang aft a-gl_ey,S 
\x^ lea'e us nought but grief and pait. 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! 
The present only toncheth thee : 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear I 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 



A WINTER NIGHT, 

\ow naked wretches, wheresoe'er you 

are. 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless 

storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and 

unfed sides, 
Yoiu- loop'd and window'd raggedness, 

defend you, 
From seasons such as these ? — 

S/takspeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure,6 
Shaip shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
WTien Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r. 

Far south the lift,' 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked. 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked. 
While bums, wi' snawy wreeths^ up- 
cb-ked 

Wild-eddying swirl, 



' Without abiding-place. 

= Endure. 3 Hoar-frost. 

♦ Thyself alone. S Wrong. 
6 Sullen. "> The sky. 

• Drifted heaps of snow. 



Or thro' the mining outlet booked,' 
Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning the doors an' winnocks* 

rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie^ cattle. 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattU 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairiag,< 
sprattle,S 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happingfi bird, wee, helpless thing ' 
That, in the merry months o' spring. 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering' 
wing. 

An' close thy e'e ? 

EVn you on murd'ring errands toil'd. 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd. 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-coto 
spoil'd. 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 
Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign^ 
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain : 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train. 

Rose in my soul. 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 
Slow, solemn, stole — 
" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier 

gust! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost 1 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering 

snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, 
shows 
More hard unkindness,unrelenting. 
Vengeful malice, unrepenting. 
Than heav'n-illumin'd man en brother 
man bestows ! 
See stem Oppression's iron grip. 
Or mad Ambition's gory hand. 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the 
slip. 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land I 



' Flung out. " Windows. 

3 Shivering. '* Deep wading, 

S Scramble. ^ Hopping. 
7 Shivering. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



EVn in the peaceful rural vale. 
Truth, weejang, tells the motunful 
tale. 
How pamper* d Luxtury, Flatt'ry by 
her side, 
The parasite empoisoning her ear. 
With all the servile wretches in the 
rear. 
Looks o'er proud property, extended 
wide ; 
And eyes the simple rustic hind, 
Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring 
show, 
A creature of another kind. 
Some coarser substance, imrefin'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus 
vile, below ! 
Where, where is Love's fond, tender 

throe, 
With lordly Honoiu's lofty brow, 

The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath Love's noble name. 
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim. 

To bless himself alone ! 
Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

To love-pretending snares. 
This boasted Honour turns away. 
Stunning soft Pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears, and imavailing 
pra^rs ! 
Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid 

nest 
She strains your infant to her joyless 
breast, 
tnoA with a. mother's fears shrinks at 
the rocking blast ! 
Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down. 
Feel not a want but what yourselves 

create, 
Think, for a moment, on his wretched 
fate, 
Whom friends and fortune quite 
disown ! 
Ill-satisfied keen uatiure's clam'rous 
call, 
Stretch'd on his straw he lays him- 
self to sleep, 
AThile thro' the ragged roof and chinky 
wall, 
Chill o'er his slumbers, piles the 

drifty heap 1 
Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
Where Guilt and poor Misfortune 
pine I 



Guilt, erring man, relenting view I 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow I 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite tha 
bliss !" 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 
Shook off the pouthery snaw. 

And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
A cottage-rousing craw.^ 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind-> 
Thro' all His works abroad. 

The heart benevolent and kind 
The most resembles God. 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES." 

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
Ye'U there see bonny Peggy ; 

She kens her father is a laird. 
And she forsooth's a leddy. 

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, 
Besides a handsome fortune : 

Wha canna win her in a night. 
Has little art in comting. 

Gae down by Faile, and taste the.al« 

And tak a look o' Mysie ; 
She's dour 3 and din, a deil within, 

But aiblins* she may please ye. 

If she be shy, her sister try, 
Ye'U maybe fancy Jenny, 

If ye'U dispense wi' want o' sense- 
She kens hersel she's bonny. 

As ye gae up by yon hill-side, 
Speer in for bonny Bessy ; 

She'll ^e ye a beck, and bid ye licht. 
And handsomely address ye. 

There's few sae bonnie, nane sae guid 
In a' King George's dominion ; 

If ye should doubt the truth o' thia— 
It's Bessy's ain opinion. 



' Crow. 
' Obstinate, 



» See p. 8. 
4Perh9^ 



VERSES TO AN OLD SWEET- 
HEART AFTER HER MAR- 
RIAGE.^ 

(written IN' 1786.) 

Once fond«y loved, and still remem- 
ber'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful 
vows! 
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, 
sincere — 
Friendship !— 'tis all cold duty now 
allows. 
^d when you read the simple, artless 
rhymes. 
One friendly sigh for him, — ^he asks 
no more. 
Who distant bums in flaming torrid 
climes. 
Or haply lies beneath the Atlantic's 
roar. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE,' A BRO- 
THER POET. 

January, 1784. 
While winds frae afF Ben-Lomond 

blaw, 
And bar the doors ■wi' driving snaw. 

And hing us owre the ingle,3 
I set me down, to pass the time. 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme. 
In hamely, westlin jingle. 

' Written on the fly-leaf of a copy 
of his poems presented to the lady, 
whose name is not mentioned. It is 
supposed that the poet was contem- 
plating emigration. 

^ Davie was David Sillar, the author 
cf a book of Scottish verses. Gilbert 
Bums writes respecting his brother : — 
It was, I think, in summer, 1784, when, 
in the interval of harder labour, he and 
I were weeding in the garden (kail- 
yard), that he repeated to me the prin- 
cipal part of this Epistle. I believe 
the first idea of Robert's becoming- au- 
thor was started on this occasion. 

3 Fire-place. 



While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla-lug,' 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift. 
That Uve sae hien^ an' snug : 
I tent 3 less, and want less 

Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker. 
To see their cursed pride. 
It's hardly in a body's pow'r, 
To keep, at times, frae being sour. 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want. 
While coofs on countless thousands 
rant. 
And ken na how to wair't ; "* 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash S your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear. 
We're fit to win our daily bread. 
As lang's we're hale and fier : 6 
" Mair spier na, nor fear na," 1 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg,8 
The last o't, the warst o't. 
Is only for to beg. 

To lie in kilns and bams at e'en. 
When banes are craz'd, and bluid i« 
thin, 
Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could mak us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a 
taste 
Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a'- 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However fortune kick the ba',9 
Has aye some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', Uke commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where. 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hiUs and 

woods. 
The sweeping vales, and foaming 
floods. 
Are free alike to all. 

' To the parlour hearth. 

' Plentiful. 3 Heed. 

4 Spend it. 5 Trouble. 6 Sound. 

^ Ramsay.— R. B. » Fig. 9 Ball 



WORKS OF BURNS.' 



In days when daisies deck the ground. 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then. 

We'll sit and sowth^ a tune ; 

Syne^ rhyme tiirt,3 we'll time till't. 

And sing't when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 

To purchase peace and rest : 
It's no in making muckle mair ; 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear,4 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast. 
We may be wise, or rich, or great. 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart aye's the part aye. 
That maks us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 
Wha cirudge and drive thro' wet an' 
dry, 
Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tentS us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 

Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 

God's creatures they oppress ! 

Or else, neglecting a' that's guid. 

They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless. 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thanfn' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth. 

The real guid and ill. 



' Whistle over. ' Then. 3 To it- 
* Learning. S Heed. 



Tho' losses, and crosses. 

Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, ye'll get thew^ 
Ye'll find nae other where. 
But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang th» 
cartes,^ 
And ilatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart. 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg,^ your dearest past. 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me. 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 3 
And sets me a' on flame ! 
O all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my hearfc 
Or my more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! ■ 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest. 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast . 

Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pra^r ; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most pecuUar care ! 
All hail, ye tender feelings dear I 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days. 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebriiic scene. 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie, or my Jean. 

' Cards. 

*"Meg" was Margaret Orr, tha 
nursery^maid of Mrs. Stewart of Stail 
—A. C. 3 Adds fuel. 



0, hc« that namt inspires my style ! 
The words come akelpm,' rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet^ Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch,3 and stilt, and 



But lest then, the beast then. 
Should rue this hasty ride, 

I'll light now, and dight "* now 
His sweaty, wi2en'dS hide. 



THE LAMENT.' 



Alas! how oft does Goodness wound 

itself. 
And Sweet Affection prove the 

spring of woe ! Home. 

THOU pale Orb, that silent shines. 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that iuly pines. 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep. 
Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep. 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked, distant hill : 
f joyless view thy trembling horn. 
Reflected in the giu-gling rill : 



* Marching lightly. 

* Spavined. 3 Hobble. 
4 Wipe. S Shrunk. 

6 It is scarcely necessary to mention, 
that "The Lament" was composed on 
that unfortunate passage in his matri- 
monial history, which I have mentioned 
m my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, after the 
first distraction of his feelings had a 
little subsided.— G. B, 



My fondly- fluttering fieart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, RemembrancCt 
cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains. 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame 

The oft-attested pow'rs above ; 
The promis'd father's tender name : 

These were the pledges of my love I 

Encircled in her clasping arms. 

How have the raptur'd moments 
flown ! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms. 

For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone. 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan! 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart. 

So lost to honour, lost to truth. 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The pliglited husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will 
soothe. 

Her sorrows share, and make them 
less? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy" d. 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts em- 
ploy'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room 1 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy' d. 

And not a wish to gild the gloom I ' 

The mom that warns th' approaching 
day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array. 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe. 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low 

Shall kiss the distant, western main 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



And when my sightly couch I try, _ 

Sore harass'd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly 
thief; 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief. 

Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore af- 
fright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er the 
expanse 
Now highest reign'st, with boundless 
sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away. 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 
To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 

Again I feel, again I bum \ 
From ev'sy joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale I wander thro'; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

Oppress'd w5th grief, oppress'd with 

care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
life I thou art a galling load, 
^ong a rough, a weary road. 

To wretches such as I ! 
'k!>im backward as I cast my view. 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still eating, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 

My woes here shall close ne'er, 

nut witl- Mu closing tomb I 



Happy, ye sons of busy life. 
Who, equal to the bustling slrife. 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd. 
Yet while the busy means are piyd. 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight. 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night. 
And joyless mom the same; 
You, bustling, andjustling. 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I, listless, yet restless. 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot. 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling rooli. 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits. 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his eVning thought. 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heay'n onhighi 
As wand'ring, meand'ring. 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd. 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And just to stop, and just to move. 

With self-respecting art : 
But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, ac^ 
joys 
Which I too keenly taste. 
The Solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or ha^.e. 
Whilst I here must cry here. 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, early days. 
When dancing thoughtless pleasiire'f 
maze. 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush. 



F« LtUe know' the ills ye court, 

V/hcn manhood is your wish 1 

The losses, the crosses. 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all. 
Of dim-declining age ! 



LINES TO MY BED. 

Thou hed, in which I first began 
To be that varied creature — Man ! 
And when again the fates decree. 
The place where I must cease to be ; 
When sickness c<»nies, to whom I fly 
To soothe my pain or close mine eye ; 
When cares surround me, where I weep. 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; 
When sore with labour, whom I court. 
And to thy downy breast resort ; 
Where too ecstatic joys I find. 
When deigns my Delia to be kind ; 
And full of love, in all her charms. 
Thou giVst the fair one to my arms : 
The centre thou, where grief and pain, 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy httle space 
So many various scenes take place. 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach. 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach ; 
And man, convinced by thee alone. 
This great important truth shall ovra. 
That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside ; 
That naught is perfect here below. 
But bliss still bordering upon woe ! 



A DIRGE. 



The wintry west extends his blast. 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
J^iile, tumbling brown, the bum cornea 
down. 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
^d bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 



"The sweeping blast, tht sky o'o" 
cast,"^ 

Thi; joyless winter-day. 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my sou^ 

My griefs it seems to join : 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty 
scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil. 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want (Oh ! do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny. 

Assist me to resign. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY 
NIGHT. 



Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny ob- 
scure ; 
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful 
smile. 
The short but simple annals of the 
Poor. — Gray. 

My loVd, my honoured, much respected 
friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage 
pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selii^ 
end: 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem 
and praise : 

^ Dr. Young.— R. B. 

' Mr. Aiken was a " writer " in Ayr ; 

Gilbert Bums affectionately noticeshim 
in a letter to Currie, as a man of worth 
and taste, and warm affections, and 
who eagerly spread among his friendl 
the merits of the new Poet. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 
The lowly train in life's sequester'd 

The native feelings strong, the guile- 
less ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have 
been ; 

Ah ! though his worth unknown, far 
happier there I ween. 

Novembe:^ chill blaws loud wi' angry 
sugh ;- 
The short'ning winter-day is near a 
close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the 
pleugh ; 
The black'ning trains o' craws to 
their repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour 
goes, 
This night his weekly moil is at an 
end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and 
his hoes. 
Hoping the mom in ease and rest to 
spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course 
does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in 
view. 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, 
stacher^ thro'. 
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin^ 
noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily. 
His clane hearth-stane, his thriftie 
wifie's smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 
Does a' his weary carkmg cares be- 
guile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labour 
an' his toil. 

Belyve,'* the elder balms come drap- 
ping in. 
At service out, amang the farmers 
roun';S 



'Stag 



• Rushing sound. - stagger 

3 Fluttering. 4 By and by. 

S Although the " Cotter," in the 

lAturday Night, is an ;xact copy of my 



Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, «ouM 
tentie ' rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman 
grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in 
her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw 
new gown, 
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in 
hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters 
meet. 
An' each for other's welfare kindly 
spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unno- 
ticed fleet ; 
Each tells the uncos* that he seesw 
hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful 
years. 
Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her 
shears. 
Gars 3 auld claes lookamaist as weel's 
the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's com- 
mand, 
The younkers a' are wamed to 
obey; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent < 
hand. 
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk 
or play : 



father in his manners, his family devo- 
tions, and exhortations, yet the other 
parts of the description do not apply to 
our family. None of us ever were 
"At service out amang the_ neebors 
roxm'." Instead of our depositing our 
"sair-won penny-fee " with our parent^ 
my father laboured hard, and lived with 
the most rigid economj;, that he migh/ 
be able to keep his children at home. 
—Gilbert Bums to Dr. Currie. Oct 
24, 1800. 

' Cautious. * News. 

3 Makes. ^ Diligent. 



" An', oh ! be sure to fear the Lord al- 
way. 
An' mind your duty, duly, mom an' 
nigiit! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gangastray, 
Implore His counsel and assisting 
might : 
Iliey never sought in vain that sought 

the Lord arigbt ! " 
But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the 
door ; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the 
same, 
Tells how a neehor lad cam o'er the 
moor. 
To do some errands, and convoy her 
hame. 
The wily mother sv/Cs the conscious 
flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's c'e, and flush her 
cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires 
his name, 
While Jenny hafflins" is afraid to 
speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae 

wild worthless rake. 
Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him 
ben ; 
A strappan youth ; he takes the 
mothers eye ; 
BIythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill 
ta'en ; 
The father cracks " of horses,pleughs, 
and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows 

scarce can 
weel behave ; 
The woman, wi' a woman's wiles, can 
spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' 
an' sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's re- 
spected like the lave.5 

happy love ! where love like this is 
found ! 
O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond 
compare ! 



Half. ' 

' ohetpish. 



Talks. 



3 Bashful. 
S The rest. 



I've paced much this weary, mortai 
round. 
And sage experience bids me this 
declare — 
" If HeaVn adraught of heav'nly plea 
sure spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest 
pair. 
In other's arms breathe out the tend- 
er tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that 
scents the eVning gale ! " 

Is there, in human form, that bears a 
heart — 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and 
truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring 
art. 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 
youth 1 
Cin-seonhis perjur'darts ! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all 
exil'd? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er 
their child? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and theii 
distraction wild ! 

But now the supper crowns their simple 
board, 
The halesome parritch, chief o' 
Scotia's food : 
The suupe their only hawkie' does 
afford, 
That 'yont the hallan ° snugly chows 
her cood ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental 
mood. 
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd,* 
kebbuck,4 fell. 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 'twas a towmond 5 auld, sia' lint 
was i' the bell.* 



'Cow. 

3 Well-saved. 

5 A twelvemonth. 

6 Since the flax was in flower. 



Partition wall. 
4 Cheese 



WOR/CS OF BURNS. 



The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious 
face. 
They, round the ingle, farm a circle 
wide ; 
riie sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal 
grace. 
The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's 
pride : 
His bonnet reVrently is laid aside. 
His lyart haffets * wearing thin an' 
bare; 
Those strains that once did sweet in 
Zion glide, 
He wales ^ a portion with judicious 
care; 
And " Let us worship God ! " he says, 
with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple 
guise; 
They tune their hearts, by far the 
noblest aim : 
Perhaps " Dundee's " wild warbling 
measures rise. 
Or plaintive " Martyrs," worthy of 
the name ; 
Or noble " Elgin " beets the heaVnward 
flame. 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy 
lays: 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are 
tame ; 
The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures 
raise; 
Nae vmison hae they with our Creator's 
praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred 



on high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's 
avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing 
cry; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred 
lyre. 



Grey locks. 



Perhaps the Christian volume is th 
theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man 
was shed ; 
How He, who bore in HeaVn the se- 
cond name. 
Had not on earth whereon to lay Hi* 
head: 
How His first followers and servant! 
sped; 
The precepts sage they wrote to 
many a land : _ 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 
Saw in the sun a mighty angd 
stand; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom prO' 
nounced by HeaVn's command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's 
Eternal King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband 
prays : _ 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant 
wing," ' 
That thus they all shall meet in fu- 
ture days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays. 
No more to sigh, or shed the bittei 
tear. 
Together hymning their Creator's 
praise. 
In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an 
eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Re- 
ligion's pride. 
In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
When men display to congregations 
wide 
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the 
heart! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will 
desert. 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal 
stole; _ 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 
May hear, well pleas'd, the language 
of the soul ; 
And in His book of life the Inmate* 
poor enrol. 



Pope's "Windsor Forest."— R. fc. 



Ilkck kome ward nil take off their seVral 
way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest: 
The parent-pair their secret homage 

pay. 
And proffer up to Heav'n the warm 
request, 
fhat He, who stills the raven's clam'rous 
nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride. 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the 
best. 
For them, and for their little ones 
provide ; 
llut chiefly, in their hearts with grace 
divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's 
grandeur springs. 
That makes her lov'd at home, re- 
ver'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of 
kings; 
"An honest man's the noblest work 
of God :" 
And certes,in fair virtue's heaVnly road. 
The cottage leaves the palace far be- 
hind; 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous 
load. 
Disguising oft the wretch of human 
kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness 
reiin'd ! 

Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 
For whom my warmest wish to Hea- 
ven is sent! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and 
sweet content ! 
And, oh, may Heaven their simple lives 
prevent 
From luxurys contagion, weak and 
vile! 
Then, howe'er crawns and coronets be 
rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the 
while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their 
much -lov'd Isle. 

I) Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 
That stream'd thro' Wallace's un- 
daunted heart ; 



Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 
Or nobly die.the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou artj 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and re- 
ward !) 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot* 
bard. 
In bright succession raisCj her oita,' 
ment and guard ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.' 



When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare. 
One eVning, as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o[er with years. 

And hoary was his hair. 
Young stranger, whitherwand'rest thoul 

Began the rev'rend sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain. 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes. 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man. 
The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Outspreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sim 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs 

That Man was made to moiun. 



' Several of the poems were produced 
for the purpose of bringing forward 
some favouritfi sentiment of the author 
He used to remark to me, that he could 
not well conceive a more mortifying 
picture of human life than a man seek- 
ing work. In casting about in his mind 
how this sentiment might be brought 
forward, the elegy, "Man wis mans ts 
looiuTi," was composed '~<i. R, 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! _ 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions bum ; 
Which tenfold force give nature's law. 

That Man was made to mourn. 
Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right. 
But see him on the edge of life. 

With cares and sorrows worn ; 
Then age and want, oh ! ill-match'd 
pair ! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 
A few seem favourites of fate. 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn. 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn. 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves. 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heaVn-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
/Ind see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By Nature's law design'd, — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, Vfhy am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 
Fet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 



This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been bom, 
Had theie not been some recompence 

To comfort those that mourn ! 
O death ! the poor man's dearest friend 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy bloir 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! ' 



ON THE ILLNESS OF A B'ft 
LOVED CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face 
Nae mair my deary smUes ; 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace. 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cmel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak for thee ! 
Ye heavens, how great is my despab. 

How can I see him die ! 



A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECI 
OF DEATH.^ 

O Thou unknown. Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps 1 must appear ! 

' Whatever might be the casual idea 
that set the poet to work, it is but too 
evident that he wrote from the habitual 
feelings of his avra bosom. The indig- 
nation with which he contemplated the 
inequality of human condition, and par- 
ticularly the contrast between his own 
worldly circiunstances and intellectual 
rank, was never more bitterly nor more 
loftily expressed, than in some of these 
stanzas. — Lockhart. 
. ^ Burns has entitled his verses, " A 
jirayer, when fainting fits, and oAw 



If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 
Thou know'st that thou hast formed me, 

With passions wild and strong ; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 
Where human weakness has come short. 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art. 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have. 
But Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME 
OCCASION.' 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly 
scene ! 
Have I so found it full of pleasing 
charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill 
between : 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid re- 
newing storms ; 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark 
abode 1 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in 
arms : 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-aveng- 
ing rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul 
offence ! " 
Fain promise never more to disobey ; 

alarming symptoms of pleurisy, or 
tome other dangerous disorder, which 
indeed still threatens me, first put na- 
ifjfe on the alarm." 

* August, [1784,] Misgivings in the 
*our of Despondency and Prospect of 
Death.. 



But, should my Author health agaia 
dispense. 
Again I might desert fair virtue'i 
way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astrav ; 
Again exalt the brute, and sink tlio 
man ; 
Then how should I for Heav'nly mercy 
pray. 
Who act so counter Heav'nly mercy's 
plan? 
Who sin so oft have motum'd, yet to 

temptation ran ? 
O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest ceasa 
to blow. 
And still the tumult of the raging sea ; 
With that controlling pow'r assist 
ev'n me, 
Those headlong furious passions to 
confine. 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be. 
To rule their torrent in th' allowed 
line ; 
O, ^d me with thy help. Omnipotence 
Divine ! 



LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND S HOHSB 
ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THH 
FOLLOWING 

VERSES 

IN THE ROOM WHERE HK SLEPT.' 

O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st 
above ! 
I know Thou wilt me hear : 



' The first time Robert heard the 
spinnet played upon was at the house 
of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of the 
parish of Loudon, now in Glasgow, 
having given up the parish in favour 
of his son. Dr. Lawrie has several 
daughters ; one of them played ; the 
father and mother led down the dance ; 
the rest of the sisters, the brother, the 
poe£, and the other guests, mixed i» 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



When for diis scene of peace and love 

I make my pra^r sincere. 
The hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 

Long, long, be pleas'd to spare : 
To bless his little filial flock. 

And show what good men are. 
She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears. 
Oh, bless her with a mother's joys. 

But spare a mother's tears t 
Their hope, their stay, their darling 
youth. 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth. 

Up to a parent's wish. 
The beauteous, seraph sister-band. 

With earnest tears I pray. 
Thou knoVst the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 
When soon or late they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n. 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in HeaVn ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever plac'd. 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 
Nor from the seat of scornful pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 
That man shall flourish like the trees 

Which by the streamlets grow ; 
The fruitful top is spread on high. 

And firm the root below. 
But he, whose blossom buds in guilt. 

Shall to the ground be cast. 
And like the rootless stubble tost. 

Before the sweeping blast. 



it. It was a delightful family scene for 
our poet, then lately introduced to the 
world. His mind was roused to a 
poetic enthusiasm, and the Stanzas 
»ere left in the room where he slept. 
«-G. B. 



For why ? that God tht gooil adore 
Hath giVn them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRES 
SURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.' 

O Thou Great Being ! what Thou ait 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 
Thy creatiure here before Thee standi 

AH wretched and distrest ; 
Yet siu-e those iUs that wring ray sotll 

Obey Thy high behest. 
Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears. 

Or close them fast in death ! 
But if I must afilicted be. 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine 1 



STANZAS WRITTEN WHILE 
UNDER EXCESSIVE GRIEF." 



Accept the gift of a friend sincere 
Wad on thy worth be pressin' ; 



March, 1784. 

^ There was a certain period of my 
life that my spirit was broke by 
repeated losses and disasters, which 
threatened, and indeed efi"ected, the 
utter ruin of my fortune. My body 
too was attacked by that most dreadful 
disorder, a hypochondria, or confirmed 
melancholy. In this wretched state, 
the recollection of which makes me yel 
shudder, I hung my harp on the willow 
trees, except in some lucid intervals, 
in one of which I composed the fot 
lowing. — R. B. 

* Written in 1786, and first printed 
in the Sun newspaper of April , »8« j. 



Remembrance oft may i.tart a tear, 
But oh that tenderness forbear. 
The' 'twad my sorrows lessen. 

Nly morning rose sae clear and fair, 

I thought sair storms wad never 
Bedew the scene ; but grief and care 
In wildest fury hae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever ! 

Vou think I'm glad ; oh, I pay weel 

For a' the joy I borrow. 
In solitude — then, then I feel 
I canna to myself conceal 

My deeply ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee. 
For Scotia's son — once gay like thee — 
Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken 1 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF 
THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 

Before the mountains heaVd their 
heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand. 
Before this pond'rous globe itself 

Arose at Thy command ; 

That poVr, which rais'd and still up- 
_ holds 

This universal frame. 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 
Those mighty periods of years. 

Which seem to us so vast. 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, 
man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men. 

Return ye into nought ! " 

thou layest them, with all thsir cares, 
Id everlastiag sleep ; 



As with a flood thou tak'st them off 
With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow 5 
In beauty's pride array'd ; 

But long ere night cut down, it lies 
All wither'd and decay'd. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THB 
PLOUGH, IN APRIL, I786.* 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maim crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r. 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet. 
The bonnie Lark,* companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' spreckl'd brOLst, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to 
greet 

The purpling east 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid thy storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's mauz 
shield. 



^ The Daisy grew in the field next 
to that in which the plough had turned 
up the mouse's nest. 

* I have seldom met with an image 
more truly pastoral than that of the 
lark in the second stanza. Such strokes 
as these mark the pencil of the poet, 
which delineates Nature with the pre* 
cision of intimacy, yet with the delicate 
colouring of beauty and faste. — H. 
Mackenzis, in "The Loi\nger,* 
No. 97. 

F 2 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But thou beneath the random bield ' 

O' clod, or stane, 
Adorns the histie '' stibble-field, 

I nseen, alane. 
There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 
Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
Bui now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet fiow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By Jove's simplicity betrayed. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has 

striVn, 
By human pride or cunning driVn 

To mis-rys brink. 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 
EVn thou who moum'st the Daisy's 

fatfe. 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom 1 



All hail I inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word 



* Shelter. = Dry. 

3 I have here enclosed a small piece, 
the very latest of my productions. I 
•m a good deal pleased with some sen- 
timents myself, as they are just the 
native querulous feelings of a heart 



The mightiest empiiss fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing \.y^ 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my- heart. 
Then low'ring, ana pouring. 

The storm no more I dread : 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr i 
While life a pleasure can afford. 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pra^r ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid. 

To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace. 

Resign life's joyless day: 
My weary heart its throbbing cease. 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more. 

To stain my lifeless face. 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



STANZAS ON THE DESTRUC- 

TION OF THE WOODS NEAR 

DRUMLANRIG.' 

(written in 1796.) 

As on the banks o' wand'ring Nith 
Ae smiling summer morn I stray'd. 



which, as the elegantly melting Gray 
says, " Melancholy has marked for her 
own." — To Mr. Kennedy, April 20, 
1786. 

^ According to Mr. Chambers, the 
Duke of Queensberry, who was no 
great favourite with Bums, "had strip- 
ped his domains of Drumlanrig, m 
Dumfriesshire, and Neldpath, in Pee- 
blesshire, of all the wood fit for being 
cut, in order to enrich the Couuteu 
of Yarmouth, whom he supposed io 'v% 
his daughter." 



And traced its bonny how-es and haughs' 
AThere linties sang and lambkins 
play'd, 

I sat me down upon a craig. 
And drank my fill o' fancy's dream. 

When, from the eddying deep below. 
Uprose the genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, 

And troubled like his wintry wave, 
And deep, as sughs" the boding wind 

Amaug his eaves, ths sigh he gave— 
" And came ye here, my son," he cried, 

" To wander in my birken shade ? 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme. 

Or sing some favourite Sccrttish maid ! 

"There was a time, it's nae langsyne. 

Ye might hae seen me in my pride, 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the 
pool ; 

"When glinting through the trees ap- 
peared 

The wee white cot aboon the mill. 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek,^ 

That slowly curled up the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld. 

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane. 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

"Alas !"_said I, "what ruefu' chance 

Has twin' d ye o' your stately trees? 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripp'd the deeding o' your 
braes ? 
Was it the bitter eastern blast. 

That scatters blight in early spring? 
Or was't the wil'-fire scorch'd their 
boughs. 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ? " 

* Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied ; 

" It blew na here sae fierce and fell ; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker-worms getleave to dwell : 



Valleys. ' M'^ans. 3 Smoke. 



Man ! cruel man !" the genius sigh' d-* 

As through the cliffs he sank him 

down — 

"The worm that gnaVd my bonny 

trees. 

That reptile wears a ducal crown !" 



TO MISS LOGAN, WITH BEAT- 
TIE'S POEMS, 

AS A NKW year's GirT, JANUARY I, 
1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 

Their annual round have driVn, 
ftjid you, tho' scarce in maiden prime. 

Are so much nearer Heav'n. 
No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts. 

In Edwin's simple tale. 
Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 
But may, dear Maid, each lover prov« 

An Edwin still to you ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG 
FRIEND.'' 

MAY, 1786. 

I LANG hae thought, myyouthfu'frieni^ 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang. 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad. 
And Andrew dear, believe me, 

Ye'll find mankind an unco squad. 
And muckle they may grieve ye; 

* Andrew Aiken, of Ayr, son of tha 
friend to whom Burns inscribed " Tha 
Cotter's Saturday Night." 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where eVry nei-ve is strained. 
I'll no say, men are villains a'; 

The real, harden' d wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law. 

Are to a few restricked ; 
But, Och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 
Yet they wha '^ fa' " in fortune's strife. 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith 3 hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part. 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 
Aye free, aff-han' "* your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keekS thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 
The sacred lowe^ o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it ; 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; _ 
But, Och ! it hardens a' within, 

Ajid petrifies the feeling ! 
To catch dame Fortime's golden siiule, 

Assiduous wait upon her ;_ 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justifyd by honour ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge. 

Nor for a train attendant ; 
But for thi glorious privilege 

Of beiny independent. 
fhe fear o' hell's a hangman's whip. 

To baud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honour grip. 

Let that aye be your border ; 



' Who. ' Fall. 

Oft-hand. S Peep. 



' Poverty. 
6 Flame. 



Its slightest touches, instant pause- - 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 
The great Creator to revere. 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And eVnthe rigid feature ; 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range. 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended ! 
When ranting round in pleasure's ring 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a random sting. 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driVn 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 
Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send yo« 
speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may you better reck the rede,' 

Than ever did th' Adviser 1 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONL 
TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE wha live by sowps' o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,3 
A' ye wha live an' never think, 

Come mourn wi' me I 
Our billie's^ gien us a' a jink,5 

An' owre the sea. 
Lament him a' ye rantin core,6 
Wha dearly like a random-splore,' 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he's taen anither shore. 

An' ower the sea I 

* Heed the counsel. " Spoonsful 

3 Rhymes. ' 4 Oar brothen S Hodpe 



6 Corps. 



'Riot 



The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him. 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless hini 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; _ 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him. 

That's ower the sea 1 
O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou ta'en aff some drowsy 

bummle,* 
Wha can do nought but fyke* an' 
fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg 3 as ony wumble,'* 

That's owre the sea ! 
AuldjCantie Kyle 5 may weepers wear. 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear. 

In flinders 6 flee; 
He was her Laureat monie a year, 

That's owre the sea ! 
He saw misfortune's cauld Nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet? brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast. 

An' owre the sea. 
To tremble under Fortune's cummock,8 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,^ 
Wi' his proud, indejjendent stomach. 

Could ill agree ; 
So, roVt '° his hurdies in a hammock. 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding. 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding. 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in. 

That's owre the sea. 
Jamaica bodieSj use him weel. 
An' hap^^ him m a cozie biel ; '* 
Ye'U find him a^ a dainty chiel, 

And fu' o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang^d the vera deil. 

That's owre the sea. 



' Blunderer. ^ Fuss. 3 Sharp. 

* A wimble. S Kilmarnock. 

« Shreds. 7 Jilt, 8 Staff. 

' Meal and walsr. '° Wrapped. 

« Cover. « Shelter. 



Fareweel, my rhyme-composing biiUe 1 
Yom- native soil was right ill-willic ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily. 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll teast ye in my hindmost gillie,* 

Tho' Dwre the sea ! 



TO A HAGGIS." 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face. 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race I 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Pamch, tripe,3 or thairm : 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's my arm. 
The groaning trencher there ye fill. 
Your hurdies like a distant hill. 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need. 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 
His knife see rustic Labour dight,* 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight. 
Trenching your gushing entrails brighl 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 
Then, horn for horn they stretch an* 

strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
Till a' their weel-swall'd S kytes 6 belyva 

Are bent hke dnuns ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,'' 

"Bethankit" hums. 
Is there that o'er his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad stawS a sow. 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner,' 

' Diminutive of gill. 

'^ A dish which is only known or 
relished in Scotland. It is said to be 
composed of minced mutton, oatmeal, 
and suet ; but a Southron reader will 
not desire a particular receipt. 

3 Small entrails. <* Wipe. 

S Swelled. 6 Stomachs. ' Buret 

* Surfeit. 9 Loathing. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Looks down wi' sneering, scomfu' view 

On sic a dinner ! 
Poor devil ! set", him owre his trash. 
As feckless '^ as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash. 

His nieve ^ a nit ; 3 
Thro' bloody flood er field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 
But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. 
The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
Clap in his wahe'* nieve a blade. 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,5 

Like taps o' thrissle. 
Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
ftjid dish them out their bill o' fare, 
.A.uld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ;6 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 

Gie her a Haggis. 



A DEDICATION TO GAVIN 
HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na, Sir, in this narration 
A fleechin,7 fleth'rinS Dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid. 
Because ye're surnam'd like His Grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
Set up a face, how I stop short 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 
This may do— maim do. Sir, wi' them 

wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wame- 

fou;9 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow. 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin. 
It's just sic Poet, an' sic Patron. 

' Weak. ^ Fist. } Nut. 4 Large. 
8 LoD. * Splashes in wooden dishes. 
' Supplicating. 8 Flattering. 

" Horse. 



' Supplicating, 
f Bellyful. 



The Poet, some guid angel help \ai^ 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp '^ him 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet. 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me^ 
I winna lie, come what will o' me), 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. 
He's just— nae better thanhe should b«. 

I readily and freely grant. 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it. 
What ance he says he winna break it ; 
Aught he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' 
that ; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature 
Of oiu: poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : 
Ye'U get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That's he's the poor man's friend '« 

need, 
The gentleman in word and deed< 
It's no thro' terror of damnation ; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane. 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain I 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust u 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ' 

No — stretch a point to catc'n a plack ; ' 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 

Steal thro' a winnock^ frae a 

But point the rake that taks the door ; 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane,'* 
And baud their noses to the grunstane, 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
Nae matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half- 
mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves,S an' lang, wrj 
faces ; 



^ Strike. ^ An old Scotch coin. 

3 Window. '• Whinstcne. 5 Hand* 



Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A. steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
For gumlie ^ dubs ^ of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'U some day squeel in quafcing terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in 

virrath. 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
fust frets till HeaVn commission gies 

While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans. 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I moist forgat my Dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them. Sir, to you : 
Because (you need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronize them wi' your favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said, ever pray : 
But that's a word T need na say : 
For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 
I'm baith dead-sweer,3 an' wretched ill 

o't; 4 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pra^r. 
That kens or hears about you, Sir, — 

" May ne'er misfortune's gowling 
bark 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far honoured name 
Lang beet 5 his hymeneal flame ; 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen. 
Axe frae their nuptial labours risen: 
Five bonnie lasses round their table. 
And seven braw fellows, stout and able, 

' Muddy. ' PondB. 

3 Extremely averse, * Of it. 

< Add fuel to. 



•S. 73 

To serve their King and C«mtry weel. 
By word or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May }-£;alth and peace, with mutual 

rays, 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe,' 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last sad mournful rites bestow ! " 



I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and 

favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant, 

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) 
That iron-hearted carl. Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
J sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
hile hopes, and joys, and pleasures 
fly him. 
Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor I 
But, by a poor man's hopes in HeaVn 1 
While recollection's pow'r is given. 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear. 
Should recognise my Master dear. 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand — my Friend a^ad 
Brother ! 



Bys 
Whi 



TO A , ON SEEING ONE 

ON A LADY'S BONNET AT 
CHURCH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlia fei 

lie!^ 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt^ rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but sparelv 

On sic a place. 

^ Great grandchild. 

" Wonder, 3 StniC 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Ve ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit ' upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your 
dinner 

On some poor body. 
Swith," in some beggar's hafFet^squat 

tie; 
rhere ye may creep, and sprawl, and 

sprattle"* 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations : 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare un- 
settle 

Your thick plantations. 
Now hand ye there, ye're out o' sight. 
Below the fatt'rils.S snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye' 11 no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 
My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose 

out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet : 6 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum,? 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 8 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; ' 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy. 

On 's wyliecoat : '° 

But Miss's fine Lunardi ! ^' fie, 

How daur ye do't 1 

Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
, W set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's " makin ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

* Foot. " Getaway. 3 Temple. 

* Scramble. S Ribbon-ends. 

6 Gooseberry. ? Powder. 8 Breech. 

9 An old-fashioned head-dress. 

'° Flannel vest. 

" A bonnet, named after Lunardi, 
trhose balloon made him notorious in 
Scotland about 1785. 

" The shrivelled dwarf. 



O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e u% 

And ev'n Devotion 1 



LINES WRITTEN AT KEN- 
MORE, TAYMOUTH.' 

Admiring Nature in her wildest graces 
These northern scenes with weary fed 

I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painfiA 

steep, 
The abodes of covey'd grouse and 

timid sheep, 
My savage journey, curious, I put' 

sue. 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my 

view, — 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen 

divides, 
The woods, wild scatter' d, clothe theii 

ample sides ; 
Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 

'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement 

fills. 
The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant 

pride, 
The palace, rising on its verdant side ; 
The lawns, wood-fiing'd in Nature'* 

native taste. 
The hillocks, dropt in Nature's care- 
less haste ; 

'^ Professor Walker informs us that 
" Burns passed two or three days with 
the Duke of Athole, and was highly 
delighted by the attention he receive^ 
and the company to whom he was in- 
troduced. By the Duke's advice he 
visited the falls of Bruar, and in a few 
days I received a letter from Inverness, 
with the above verses inclosed." Thes« 
lines were first written over thechim- 
ney-piece in the parlour of the inn al 
Kenmore. 



rhft arches, striding D'er the new t)o«n 

stream. 
The village, glittjring in the noon -tide 

beam. 



Here Poesy might wake her heaven- 
taught lyre, 

And look through Nature with creative 
fire; 

Here, to the wrongs of Fate half recon- 
ciled, 

Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wan- 
der wild ; 

And Disappointment, in these lonely 
bounds. 

Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling 
wounds ; 

Here heart-struck Grief might heaven- 
ward stretch her scan. 

And injured Worth forget and pardon 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I strayed, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her rod; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes. 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib' ril mind. 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
A:tentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim : 
4lid never may their sources fail ! 

And nevir envy blot their name ! 



Thy daughters bi ight thy waiks idom, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair Burnet ' strikes th' adoring eye, 

HeaVn's beauties on my fancy slunei 
I see the Sire of Love on high. 

And own bis v/ork indeed divine ! 

There watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar: 
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms. 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar. 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock. 
Have oft withstood assailing war. 

And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying 
tears, 
I view that noble, stately dome. 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come 1 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 

Their hapless race wild- wand'ring roam! 

Tho' rigid law :ries out, 'twas just ! 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore. 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore. 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar. 

Bold-following where your father* 
led! 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and towys. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd floVn, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stra/d, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours. 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



^ Daughter of Lord Monboddo. 
Burns said there had not been arything 
like her,in beauty, grace, and goodness, 
since Eve on the first day of her exist- 
eno*. 



WORKS -OF BURNS. 



tPiSTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 
AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD/ 

April ist, 1785. 

Wh\:,e briers an' woodbines budding 

green, 
An' paitricks^ scraichin loud at e'en. 
An' morning poussie3 w]iiddin'* seen. 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin. 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin : 

And there was muckle fun and jokin. 

Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokinS 

At sang about. 



* The " Epistle to John Lapraik " 
was produced exactly on the occasion 
described by the author. He says in 
that poem, "On fasten-e'en we had a 
rockin." I believe he has omitted the 
word rocking in the glossary. It is a 
term derived from those primitive times, 
when the country-women employed 
their spare hours in spinning on the 
rock, or distaif. This simple implement 
is a very portable one, and well fitted 
to the social inclination of meeting in 
a neighbour's house ; hence the phrase 
of going a-rocking, or ^vith the rock. 
As the coimexion the phrase had with 
the implement was forgotten when the 
rock gave place to the ^inning-wheel, 
the phrase came to be used by both 
sexes on social occasions, and men talk 
of going with their rocks as well as 
Vomen. It was at one of these rockings 
Kt our house, when we had twelve 
for fifteen yoimg people with their 
racks, that Lapraik s song, beginning, 
"When I upon thy bosom lean," was 
4Ung, and we were informed who was 
the author. Upon this Robert wrote 
his first Epistle to Lapraik ; and his 
Kct)t<d in reply to his answer. — G. B. 

* Partridges. . 3 Hare. 

* Running. S A bout. 



There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best. 
That some kind husband had addrebt 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd'^ the heart-strings thro' thu 
breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard aught describes sa« 

weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel : 
Thought I, "Can this be Pope, ox 
Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark?" 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 
It pat me fidgin-fain^ to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't. 
Then a' that ken'd him round declar'd 

He had ingine,3 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't 

It was sae fine ; 
That, set him to a pint of ale. 
An' either douce or merry tale. 
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh aH 

graith,* 
Or die a cadger pownie'sS death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baitk 

To hear your crack. 
But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough. 
Yet crooning 6 to a body's sel 

Does weel eneugh. 
I am nae Poet, in a sense. 
But just a Rhymer like, by chance. 
An' hae to learning nae pretence. 

Yet, what the matter f 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 



» Thrilled. 

3 G^enius. 

S Carrier pony. 



''Very 

< And gi 

6H« 



J lU. fcitic-^lf-- nay cock tliei- nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
you wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by your leaves, m> learned foes, 

Ve're maybe wrang. 
What's a' your jargon o' your schools. 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools. 

What sairs ' your grammars 1 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools. 

Or knappin ^-hammers. 
A set o' dull, conceited hashes,3 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks,* and come out 
asses. 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne 5 they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 
Gie me ae spark o[ Nature's fire. 
That's a' the learning I desire ; 
Then tho' I drudge thro' dub 5 an' mire 

At pleugh or cart. 
My Muse, though hamely in attire. 

May touch the heart. 

for a spunk 7 o' Allan's glee. 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee. 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear 8 eneugh for me. 

If I could get it. 
Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou,9 

I'se no insist. 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends and folk that wish me well. 
They sometimes roose'° me ; 
• The' I maim own, as monie still 
As far abuse me. 
There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to 

me, 
I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

' Serves. " Stone-breaking. 

' Louts. 4 Cows. S Then. 

• Pand. ' Spark. 8 Learning. 

» Full. ^° Praise. 



Formon'-e a plack they wheedle irae me 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 
But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care. 

If we forgather,^ 
An' hae a swap^ o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 
The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter. 
An' kirsen 3 him wi' reekin water : 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter,^ 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted ba/wer 

Before we part. 
Awa ye selfish warlyS race, 
Wha think that havins,6sense,an' grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give 
place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face. 

Nor hear your crack. 
But ye whom social pleasure charms. 
Whose hearts the tide of kindnesi 

warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

' Each aid the others,' 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms. 

My friends, my brothers ! 
But to conclude my lang epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle. 

Who am, most ferv^t. 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant 



TO THE SAME.7 

April 2ist, 1785. 
While new-ca'd kye^ rout' at the 

stake. 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,^" 



^ Meet. " Exchange. 

3 Christen. * Hearty draught. 

5 Woridly. 6 Good manners, 

7 In answer to verses which Lapraili 
had sent. 

8 Cows. 5 Low, ^° Ilarrcw 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



fhis hour ofi e'enin's ' edge I take. 
To own I'm debtor 

To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 
For his kind letter, 

Forjesket' sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the com out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 
Their ten-hours' bite, 
My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 
The tapetless,3 ramfeezl'd'* hizzie. 
She's saft at best, and something lazy. 
Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae 
busy. 

This month an' mair, _ 
That trouth my head is grown right 
dizzie. 

An' something sair." 

Her dowif S excuses pat me mad ; 
"Conscience," says I, "ye thowlessS 

• jad ! 
I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night ; 
So diima ye affront your trade. 

But rhyme it right. 
"Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' 

hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, ' 
Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'U neglect to shaw your parts. 

An' thank him kindly 1" 
Sae I gat paper in a blink. 
An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 
Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it ; 
in' if ye winna mak it clink. 

By Jove, I'll prose it !" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhjrme, or prose, or baith thegither. 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly 
neither. 

Let time mak proof; 
B'ut I shall scribble down some blether 8 

Jus clean aflf-loof.9 



' Evening's. ' Jaded. 

» Foolish. 4 Tired. S Silly. 

) Lazy. _ 7 Cards. 8 Nonsense. 
' Unpremeditated. 



My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an 

carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp 
Come, kittle' up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp 
She's but a b — h. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,* 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, and sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 3 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth iim> 

mer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer. 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmcr,* 
I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 
Behint a kist 5 to lie and sklent,6 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent, 

An' muckle wame,' 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty,8 feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffled sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank 
bane. 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en. 

As by he walks ? 
" O Thou wha gies us each guid gift I 
Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift. 
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift. 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift. 

In a' their pride ! " 
Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be oiu: fate. 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to HeaVn ! that's no th< 
gate 

We learn our er-j>'.J. 



' Tickle. » Kick 3 Caa 

4 Skittish girl. •* Counter. 

6 Deceive. 7 BcBy. 8 Haugbtv 



For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race hegan, 
* The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

And none but he 1 " 
O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine. 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 
Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' 

growl, 
Their_ worthless nievefu'^ of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl. 
The forest's fright; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 
Then may Lapraik and Burns arise. 
To reach their native, kindred skies. 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an'joys, 

In some mild sphere. 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 
Each passing year ! 



THE TWO LAWYERS, 



LORD ADVOCATE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in Jiis fist. 

He quoted and he hinted, 
rill in a declamation mist 

His argument he tint o't,3 
He gaped for't, he graped'* for't. 

He found it was awa', man ; 
But what his common sense cam short 

He eked out wi' law, man. 

DEAN OF FACJLTY. 

Collected Harry stood a wee, 
Then open'd out his arm, man ; 

^ Handful. 

= Mr. Hay Campbell, the Lord Ad- 
rscate (afterwards Lord President), and 
Harry Erskii^i, the Dean of Faculty. 

3 Lost. 4 Groped. 



His lordship sat, wi' ruefu* e'e. 
And eyed the gath'ring storm, man , 

Like wind-driven hail, it did assail. 
Or torrents ow're a linn, man ; 

The Bench, sae wise, lift up their eyts, 
Half-waken'd wi' the din, man. 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON/ 

OCHILTREE. 

May, 1785. 
I GAT your letter, winsome WiUie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie i 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly. 

An' unco vain. 
Should I believe, my coaxin bilUe,' 

Your flatterin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 3 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd !t| 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel,* 
Should I but dare a hope to speel,5 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfiel',6 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 
111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstanc hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wadstow'd his pantry !J 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head. 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed,'' 
As whiles they're like to be my deed, 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 



' Schoolmaster of Ochiltree. 
^ Brother. 3 Sidelong flun{p 

4 Be crazed. 5 Climb. 

6 Allan Ramsay and Hamilton ol 
Gilbertfield. ^ Rent, 



WORKS OF BUR AS. 



Auld Coila, now, may fidge ' fu' fain. 

She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,'' 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while. 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkend-of isle, 

Beside New Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Ower Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest. 
We'll gar our streams an' bumies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells. 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells. 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Whare Glorious Wallace 
Aft bure ^ the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

_ By Wallace' side. 

Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod,* 

Or glorious d/d. 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs San' woods, 
When lintwhites^ chant amang the 

buds. 
And jinkin^ hares, in amorous whids. 

Their loves enjoy. 
While thro' the braes the cushat croodsS 

Wi' wailfu' cry ! 

* Be right glad. 

• Will not spare their bagpipes. 
3 Did bear. 

» Walking in blo«J over the shoe-tops. 
i Valleys. * Linnett, 

Dodging. 8 Coor 



Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me. 
When winds rave thro' the naked trew; 
O.t frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Of blindingdrifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature I a' thy shews an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae chafms 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms. 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand ^ her. 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adowu some trotting bum's meander, 

An' no thmk lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The war'Iy race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shojther,^ jundie,3 stretch, an' 

strive, — 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive. 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum '* owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing 

brither ! " 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to 

ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither. 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tetjier, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds S like guid, fat 

braxies ; 6 
While terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' prac ice^ 
In Robert Burns. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen ; • 
I had amaist forgotten clean, 

' Found. ' Push with the shouldef 
3 Jostle. 1 Hum. S Shepherd» 

6 Diseased sheep. 'Pin. 



Vn badti me write you what they mean 
By this New-Light, 

Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 
Maist Uke to fight. 

In days when mankind were hut callans^ 
At griimraar, logic, an' sic talents. 
They took nae pains their speech to 
balance. 

Or rules to gie. 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid 
Lallans,^ 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the 

moon. 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon. 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon,3 

Gaed past their viewing. 
An' shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it. 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it. 

An' ca'd it wrang ; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lan^ 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,^ 
Wad threap S auld folk the thing mis- 

teuk; 
For 'twas the auld moon tum'd a neuk. 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins 6-comin, to the leuk 

She grew mair bright. 

This was den/d. It was affirm'd ; 
The herds an' hirsels^ were alarm'd ; 
The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' 
storm'd. 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours 8 an' 

nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; ' 



Beys. ' Lowland speech. 

: Shred. ♦ Book. 5 Maintain. 

'Returning. ? Flocks. 

I Bumps. 9 Blow. 



An' sjmc, to learn thtm foi their tit.;Vj, 
Were hang'd an' brunt.' 

This game was played in monie lands. 
An' Auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
That, faith, the youngsters tock the 
sands 

Wi' nimble shanks. 
The lairds farbade, by strict commands. 
Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruined stick-^m- 

stowe,^ 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe^ 

Ye'U find ane plac'd ; 
An' some their New-light fair avow. 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the Auld-light flocks are 

bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' 

sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' gimin * spite. 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 
By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns i > 
Some Auld-light herds in neebor towrs 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month araang the moons, 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them : 
An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e 

them. 
The hindmost shaird,* they'll fetch it 
wi' them. 

Just i' their poucb. 
An' when the New-light billies see 
them, 

I think they'll crouch 3 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a ' ' moonshine matter ;' 
But tho' dull-prose folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie,? 
I hope we Bardies ken some better 

Than mind sio brulzie.' 



' Burnt. 
3 Hillock. 
e Shred. 



" Totally. 
■* Grinning. 5 Fello-vs. 
7 Quarrel. SAbir*L 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE, 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O ROt."GH, rude, ready-witted Rankme, 
The wale ^ o' cocks for fun an' drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 
Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants. 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou : 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants. 

Are a' seen thro'. 
Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 
Spare 't for their sakes wha aften 
wear it. 

The liKls in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes 
near it. 

Rives 't afF their back. 

Think,_ wicked sinner, wha ye're skaith- 



ing,3 
It's just the 



t's just the blue-gown badge an' claith- 

ing 
0' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them 
naithing 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 
Like you or I, 

/ ve sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect. 
Yon sang,* ye'U sen 't S wi' cannie care. 

And no neglect. 
Tho', faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her 

wing ! 
I've play'cl mysel a bonnie spring. 

An' danc'd my fill ! 

* According to Allan Cunningham, 
"an out-spoken, ready-witted man, 
»ad a little of a scoffer." 

^ Choico. 3 Damaging. 

4 A son,? he had promised the au- 
fcor.— R. Ji, 5 Send it. 



I'd better gaen an' sair't ' the king 
At Bunker's HiU. 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun. 

An' brought a paitrick to the grun," 

A bonnie hen ; 
And, as the twilight was begun. 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 

I straikit^ it a wee lur sport. 

Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me £01** 

But, Deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale 4 aftair. 

Some auld us'd hands had ta'en a note 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
So gat the whissle o' my groat. 

All' payt the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale. 
An' by my pouther an' my hail. 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay, o'er moor an' AiXt,. 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-timeS is by^ 
An' the wee pouts ^ begun to cry, 
L — d, I'se hae sportin by an' by. 

For my gowd guinea ; 
Tho' I should herd the Buckskin 7 k>« 

For't, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame I 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb. 
But twa-three draps about the wame,' 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 9 

It pits*° me aye as mad's a hare ; _ 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 



' Served. ' Partridge to the ground 
3 Stroked. * Whole. 

S Hatching time. _ * Chicks. 

7 Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginiii 

8 Belly. 

9 And endure their fcolish talk. 
'° Puts. 



Bat pt-inyworths again is fair. 

When time's expedient : 

U janwhile I am, respected Sir, 
Your most obedient. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN 
MAI THEW HENDERSON;' 

» GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT 

FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY 

FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

But now his radiant course is run. 
For Matthew's course was bright : 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, Heav'nly Light. 

Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie ^ 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,3 

O'er hurcheon-* hides. 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdieS 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 
He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn. 
The ae best fellow e'er was bom ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel6 shall 
mourn 

By wood and wild. 
Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 
Ye hills, near neebors o' the stams. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns !' 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,^ 

Where echo slumbers ! 

* The Elegy on Captain Henderson 
is a tribute to the memory of a man 

1 loved much. Poets have in this the 
same advantage as Roman Catholics ; 
they can be of service to their friends 
after they have passed that bourne 
where all other kindness ceases to be 
of any avail. — To Dr. Moore, {Feb. 28, 
1 791,) who remarked, in reply, that the 
chief merit of the Elegy lies in its 
lively pictures of country scenes and 
things, which none but a Scottish poet, 
(Uid a close observer of Natiu-e, could 
Save so described. 

* Rope. 3 Smithy. ■* Hedgehog. 
S Anvil. 6 Self. 

' Heaps of stones. * Eagles. 



Co ne join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairiia, 
My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat ' kens ! 
Ye haz'Uy shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye bumies, wimplin^ down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din. 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,' 

Frae lin to lin.-* 

Moiun, little harebells o'er the lea ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie. 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flow'rs. 
At dawn, when eVry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head. 
At ev'n, when beans their frigrauco 
shed, 

I' th' rustling gale. 
Ye maukins S whiddin ^ thro' the glade. 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather-bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; ^ 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teak. 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair^ for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring claver gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wliam we deplore. 

Ye houlets,5 frae your ivy_ bow'r. 
In some auld tree, or eldritch '^° tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 
Sets up her horn. 



' Wood- pigeon. ' Meanderine. 

3 Plunges. * Pool to pool,, 

5 Hares. ^ Running. 

1 Qoud, 8 Boom. 

9 Owls. " DismaL 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 
Till waukrifel morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 

Oft have ye heard my canty ^ strains : 

But now, what else for me remains 
But tales of woe ; 

And frae my een the drapping rains 
Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the 

year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, tiow'ry tresses shear 

For him that's dead ! 

Tliou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of 

light ! 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his 
flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ? 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae ^ best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I-shall relate, man ; 

1 Wakeful, 2 Merry. s One. 



I tell nae common tale o' grief, — 

For Matthew was a great man. 
If thou uncommon merit hast. 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man, 
A look of pity hither cast, — 

For Matthew was a poor man. 
If thou a noble sodger art. 

That passest by this grave, man, 
There moulders here a gallant heart,— 

For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy 
praise, — 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 

Wad hfe itself resign, man ; 
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', — 

For Matthew was a kind man. 
If thou art staunch without a stain, 

Like the unchanging blue, man ; 
This was a kinsman o' thy ain, — 

For Matthew was a true man. 
If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 

And ne'er gude wine did fear, man ; 
This was thy billie, dam, and sire, — 

For Matthew was a queer man. 
If ony whiggish whingin 1 sot 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man; 
May dool2 aiid sorrow be his lot, — 

For Matthew was a rare man. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF 

SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH 

OF SPRING.s 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
On every blooming tree, 

1 Complaining. ^ Mourning. 

3 Whether it is that the story of ou 
Mary, Queen of Scots, has a peculia 
effect on the feelings of a poet, 01 
whether I have, in the enclosed ballad, 
succeeded beyond ray usual poetic suc- 
cess, I know not ; but it has pleased 
me beyond any effort of my muse for a 
good while past. — R. B. 



And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out owre the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal 



And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 
Now lav'rocks' wake the meiry mom. 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r. 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis ^ mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drdwsy day to rest : 
[n love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wr care nor thrall opprest. 
Now blooms the lily by the bank. 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen. 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang : 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 
I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been, 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn. 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Vet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a 
swotd 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of 
woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 
My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild tny reign. 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
IVnd where thou meet'st thy mother's 
friend. 

Remember him for me ! 



Oh ! soon, to me, tna y summer siu» 

Nae mair light up the morn .' 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' dexth 

Let winter roimd me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs, that deck th« 
spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave i 



Larks. 



' Thrush. 



ODE,' SACRED TO THE 
MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark. 
Hangman of cieation! mark 

' Ellisland, March 23, 1789. 
The enclosed Ode is a compliment to 
the memory of the late Mrs. Oswald, 
of Auchencruive. You probably knew 
her personally, an honour which I can- 
not boast ; but I spent my early years 
in her neighbourhood, and among her 
servants and tenants. I know that she 
was detested with the most heartfelt 
cordiality. However, in the particular 
part of her conduct which roused my 
poetic wrath, she was much less blame- 
able. In January last, on my roadto 
Ayrshire, I had put up at Bailie Wig- 
ham's, in Sanquhar, the only tolerable 
inn in the place. The frost was keen, 
and the grim evening and howling wind 
were ushering in a night of snow and 
drift. My horse and I were both much 
fatigued with the labours of the day, 
and just as my friend the Bailie and I 
were bidding defiance to the storm, 
over a smoking bowl, in wheels the 
funernl pageantry of the late great 
Mrs. — , and poor I am forced to brave 
all the horrors of the te.mpestuous night, 
and jade my horse, my young favourite 
horse, whom I had just christened 
Pegasus, twelve miles farther on, 
through the wildest muirs and hills oi 
Ayrshire, to New Cumnock the next 
inn. The powers of poesy and prose 
sink under me, when I wouH describe 
what I felt. Suffice it tc say, that when 



B6 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



VVl'.o in widow-weeds appears. 
Laden with unhonour'd years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 



Ifiew the wither'd beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting 
grace? 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows. 

Pity's flood there never rose. 

Bee those hands, ne'er stretch'd to 
save, 

Hands that took — ^but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron_ chest, 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and un- 
blest— 

She goes, but not to realms of everlast- 
ing rest ! 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), 
Seest thou whose step, unwilUng, hither 

bends ? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper 

skies ; 
Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate. 
She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 



And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a 

year? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail. 
Omnipotent as he is here ? 
Oh, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier. 
While down the wretched vital part is 

driVn ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a con- 
science clear, 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goe» to 
HeaVn. 



a good fire at New Cumnock had so 
jar recovered my frozen sinews, I sat 
down and wrote the enclosed Ode. — 
BuRMS to Dr. Moore, March 23, x^%<^ 



EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.' 

When Nature her great master-piece 

design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, th« 

human mind. 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various 

man. 
Then first she calls the useful mauy 

forth ; 
Plain plodding industry, and sobet 

worth : 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons 

of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take 

their birth : 
Each prudent cit a warm existence 

finds. 
And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yetj 
The lead and buoy are needful to the 

net : 
The caput mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and 

squires ; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to 

flow. 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic 

dough. 
Then marks th" unyielding mass with 

grave designs, 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divincis : 
Last, she sublimes tk Aiurora of the 

poles. 
The flashing elements of female souls. 
The order'd system fair before hel 

stood. 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very 

good ; 
But ere she gave creating laboiu- o'ei, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labom 

more. 
Some spumy, fiery, igtiisfaiutismaXt&r, 
Such as the slightest breath of air mighl 

scatter ; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well ai 



' Robert Graham, of Fintry, _Esq« 
one of the Commissioners of Excise. 



Het Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to 

show it) 

She forms the tVung, and christens it — 
a Poet, 

Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and 
sorrow. 

When blest to-day, unmindful of to- 
morrow. 

A being forra'd t' amuse his graver 
friends, 

Admir'd and prais'd — and there the 
homage ends : 

\ mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife. 

Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 

Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches 
give. 

Vet haply wanting wherewithal to live : 

Longing to wipe each tear, to heal 
each groan, 

yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 
But honest Nature is not quite a 
Turk. 

She laagh'd at first, then felt for her 
poor work. 

Pitying the propless climber of man- 
kind, 

She cast about a standard tree to find ; 

And, to support his helpless woodbine- 
state, 

Attach'd hira to the generous truly 
great, 

A title, and the only one I claim. 

To lay strong hold for help on bount'ous 
Graham. 
Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train. 

Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy 
main ! 

Their hearts no selfish stem absorbent 
stuff. 

That never gives — tho' humbly takes 
enough ; 

The little fate allows, they share as 
soon. 

Unlike sage, proverb' d, wisdom's hard- 
wrung boon. 

The world were blest did bliss on them 
depend, 

Ah, that "the friendly e'er should want 
a friend ! " 

Let prudence number o'er each sturdy 
son, 

VVho life and wisdom at one race begun. 

Who feel by reason, and who give ay 
rule. 



(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a 

fool!) 
Who make poor "will do" wait upoo 

" I should" — 
We own they're prudent, but who feels 

they're good 1 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the so- 
cial eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base 

alloy ! 
But come ye, who the godlike pleasure 

know. 
Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to 

bestow ! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the 

human race : 
Come thou who giVst with all a coiurt- 

ier's grace ; 
Friend of my life, true patron of my 

rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future 

times. 
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, 

half afraid. 
Backward, abash' d to ask thy friendly 

aid? 
I know my need, I know thy giving 

hiiad, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind com- 
mand ; 
But there are such who court the tune- 
ful Nine- 
Heavens ! should the branded character 

be mine ! 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sub- 
limely flows. 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging 

prose. 
Mark, how their lofty independent 

spirit 
Soars on the spuming wing of injur'd 

merit ! 
Seek not the proofs in private life to 

find; 
Pity the best of words should be but 

■ wind ! 
So, to heaven's gates the lark's slurill 

song ascends. 
But grovelling on the earth the carol 

ends. 
In all the clam'rous cry of starving 

want, 
They dun benevolence \r ith sharaelesf 

front ; 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays. 
They persecj:te you all your future 

days ! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damna- 
tion stain, 
My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
The piebald jacket let me patch once 

more ; 
On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd 

before. 
IW, thanks to Heaven, I dare e'en 

that last shift ! 
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy 

gift; 
That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd- 

for height. 
Where, man and nature fairer in her 

sight. 
My muse may imp her wing for some 

sublimer flight. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, OF 
FINTRY, ESQ. 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a 

leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and de- 

prest 
(Natvu-e is adverse to a cripple's rest) : 
Will generous Graham hst to his Poet's 

wail ? 
(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to 

her tale), 
And hear him curse the light he first 

surveyed. 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming 

trade ? 
Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I ar- 
raign; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have 

found. 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns 

the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail 

his shell, 
rh' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards 

his cell. — 
Thy minions, kings defend, controul. 



In all th' omnipotence of rule and 

power. 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles en- 
sure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and aro 

secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctcrs mth 

their drug. 
The priest and hedgehog in their robe* 

are snug. 
EVn silly woman has her warlike arts. 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded 

spear and darts. 
But oh ! thou bitter step-mother and 

hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child— 

the Bard ! 
A thing unteachable in world's skill. 
And half an idiot too, more helpless 

still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning 

dun; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to 

shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hy- 
men worn. 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty 

cur. 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable 

fur; 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
He bears th' unbroken blast from eVry 

side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the 

heart. 
And scorpion critics cureless venom 

dart. 
Critics — appall'd I ventiu-e on the 

name. 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of 

fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Mon- 

• roes ; — 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to 

expose. 
His heart by causeless, wanton ma,' 

lice wrung. 
By blockheads' daring into laadnest 

stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself morf 

dear. 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sp>l| 

must wear . 



POEMS. 



Poil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal 

strife, 
rhe hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom 

fir-d, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once 

inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age. 
Dead, even resentment for his injur'd 

page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless 

critic's rage ? 
So, by some hedge, the generous 

steed deceas'd. 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty 

feast. 
By toil and famine wore to skin and 

bone. 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's 

son. 
O Dulness ! portion of the truly 

blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest 1 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce 

extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid 

beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden 

cup. 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up ; 
Consbious the bounteous meed they 

well deserve. 
They only wonder "some folks" do 

not starve. 
The gra^e sage hem thus easy picks 

his frog. 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless 

dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue 

of hope. 
And thro' disastrous night they dark- 
ling grope. 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they 

bear. 
And just conclude that "fools are For- 
tune's care." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's 

shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stu- 
pid ox. 
Not so the iu!e Muses' mad-cap train. 
Not such the -irorkings of their mcKn;- 

struck Vrain : 

lity 4iey »ever dwell. 



By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted 

hell. 
I dread thee. Fate, relentless and se- 
vere, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's 

fear ! 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, hke the sun eclips'd as noon 

appears. 
And left us daikling in a world of 

tears :) 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish 

pra^r ! 
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and 

spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes- and wishes 

crown. 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun 

go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private 

path ; 
Give energy to life ; and soothe his 

latest breath. 
With many a filial tear circling the bed 

of death ! 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL 
OF GLENCAIRN.' 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills. 
By fits the sun's departing beam 

' " Had the wing of my fancy been 
equal to the ardour of my heart, the 
enclosed had been much more worthy 
your perusal : as it is, I beg leave to 
lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all 
the world knows my obligations to the 
late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to 
show as openly that my heart glows, 
and shall ever glow, with the most 
grateful sense and remembrance of hir 
lordship's goodness. The sables I did 
myself the honour to wear to his lord- 
ship's memory were not the ' mockery 
of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude perish 
vidth me : — If, among my children 1 
shall have a son that has a hean V 
shall hand k down to his child .' 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Look'd ^n the fading yellow woods_ 

That waVd o'er Lugar's winding 
stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord. 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 
He lean'd him to an ancient aik,^ 

Whos« trunk was mrnld'ring down 
with years ; 
His locks were bleached white with 
time. 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp. 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang. 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 
" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ve woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
K few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht ^ in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and 
rain ; 
But now has come a cruel blast. 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers 3 plant them in my room. 

" I've seen sae mony changefu' years. 
On earth I am a stranger grown ; 

I wander in the ways of men, 
Alike unknowing and unknown ; 

family honour and a family debt, that 
my dearest existence I owe to the no- 
ble house of Glencairn ! I was about 
to say, my lady, that if you think the 
poem may venture to see the light, I 
would, in some way or other, give it to 
the world." — Lord Glencairn died Jan- 
nary 30, 1 791, and Burns sent the 
"Lament" to the Earl's sister. Lady 
Elizabeth Cunningham, with a letter, 
of which the above passage is an ex- 
tract. 
» Oak. " Nought. 3 Others. 



Unheard, unpitied, unrelieVd, 
I bear alane my lade o' care. 

For silent, low, on beds of dust. 
Lie a' that would my sorrows shant. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold. 

His country's pride, his country'i 
stay: 
In weary being now I pine. 

For a' the life of life is dead. 
And hope has left my aged ken. 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ) 

The voice of woe and wild despair t 
Awake, resound thy latest ]ay,_ 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fiUest an untimely tomb. 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest* 
gloom. 

" In Poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, invoVd ma 
round ; 
Though oft I tum'd the wistful eye. 

No ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

That melts the fogs in limpid air. 
The friendless Bard, and rustic song, 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

" Oh ! why has worth so short a date I 

While villains ripen grey vidth time 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great. 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime 1 
Why did I live to see that day— 

A day to me so full of woe ? 
O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

"The bridegroom may forget the brida 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for ms I" 



Darkei*. 



LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN 

HTHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, 

BART./ WITH THE FORE&D- 

ING POEM. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God 

rever'st. 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought 

earthly fear's!, 
To thee this votive off'ring I impart. 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron 

lov'd ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world 

approVd. 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has 

gone. 
And tread the dreary path to that dark 

world unknown. 



TAM O' SHANTER.' 

A TALE. 

Brownjds and of Bogilis full is this 
Buke. — Gawin D<niglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
KtC folk begin to tak the gate ; 

' An early frieod of Burns', who 
eratefuUy acknowledged his interest in 
his fate as a man, and his fame as a 
poet. 

^ This poem was written to illustrate 
a drawing of Alloway Kirk, by Cap- 
tain Grose, in whose " Antiquities of 
Scotland " it was published. The poet 
versified the chief circumstances of the 
historical story. Gilbert Bums speci- 
fies those of " a man riding home very 
late from Ayr in a stormy night, his 
seeing a light in Alloway Kirk, his hav- 
ing the curiosity to look in, his. seeing 
a dance of \vitches with the Devil play- 
ng on the bagpipe to them, the 
y anty covering of one of the witches., 
bi.ich made him so far forget himself 



While we sit bousing at the nappy,' 
An' getting fou and unco happy, 
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gath'rinj, her brows like x^th'ring 

storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
This truth fand honest Tam O' 

Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter 
{Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town sur- 
passes. 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). _ 

O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise^ 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast fe 

skellum,^ 
A blethering, blustering, drunken bleJ- 

lum ; 3 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober ; 
That ilka melder,"* wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That eVry naig was ca'd a shoe on. 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the Lord's house, eVn on 

Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' KirktonS Jean till 

Monday. 
She prophesyd that, late or soon. 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in 

Doon ; 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks 6 i' the mirk,' 
By Alloways auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me gree^,* 
To think how mony counsels sweet. 
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

as to cry — ' Weel loupen, short sark ! 
with the melancholy catastrophe of 
the piece." The poet has given a fulie» 
and racier description of the original 
scene in a letter to Grose. 

^ Ale. ■ * Worthless fellow. 

3 Idle talker. 

4 Every time that com was sent t« 
be ground. 

5 Kirkton is the distmctive name of a 
village in which the parish kirk stanils. 

6 Wizards. ' Dark. 
8 M^kes me weep. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Bui to our tale : Ae market night, 
fain had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats,' that drank di- 
vinely ; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
xam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The souter^ tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ! 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' 

pleasure : 
Kings rnay be blest, but Tam was 

glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed 
Or Uke the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether time or tide ;— 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the 

key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 
And sic a night he taks the road in. 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its 

last;_ 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swal- 

low'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bel- 

low'd : 
That night, a child might understand. 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
K better never lifted leg. 



Frothing ale. ' Shoemaker. 



Tam skelpit' on thro' dub and saire. 

Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 

Whiles holding fast his gude blue bo» 
net; 

Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scot* 
sonnet ; 

Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent 
cares. 

Lest bogles catch him una^i'ares ; 

Kirk AUoway was drawing nigh, 

Whare ghaistsand houlets nightly cry. 
By this time he was cross the ford, 

Whare in the snaw the chapman 
smoor'd ; ^ 

And past the birks 3 and meikle* stane, 

Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck- 
bane ; 

And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 

Whare hunters fand the murder'd 
bairn ; 

And near the thorn, aboon the well, 

Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersek 

Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 

The doubling storm roars thro' the 
woods ; 

The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 

Near and more near the thunders roll : 

When, glimmering thro' the groaning 
trees. 

Kirk Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 

Thro' ilka boreS the beams were glanc- 
ing ; 

And loud resounded mirth and dancinjf. 
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 

What dangers thou canst make us 
scorn ! 

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 

Wi' usquebae, we'll face the Devil ! 

The swats sae ream'd in Taihmie'* 
noddle. 

Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 

But Maggie stood right sair astonish' e^. 

Till, by the heel and hand admonish' d. 

She ventured forward on the light ; 

And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and 
reels. 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 



' Went at a smart pact. " Smothered 
3 Birches. ^ Big. i liole in the wall 



Al winnock-bunkfcr' in the east, 
There sat auld.Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
A towzie ^ tyke, black, grim, and large. 
To gie them music was his charge : 
He screWd the pipss and gart^ them 

skirl,-* 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses. 
That shaw'd the dead in their last 

dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrip S slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic Tam was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; ^ 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd 

bairns ; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'. 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 
As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and 

curious. 
The mirth and fun grew fast and fvu-ious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they 

cleekit. 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 
And coost her duddies 7 to the wark. 
And linket 8 at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been 

queans 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie' flannen. 
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder 

_ linnen !'° 
Thir ' ' breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' gude bluehair. 



Shaggy._ 
" Magi 



' Window-seat. 

3 Forced. 4 Scream s Magic. 

6 Irons. 1 Clothes. 

* Tripped along. 9 Greasy. 

'° The manufacturing term for a fine 
inen, wovca in a reed of 1700 divisions. 
^Cromek. ''These. 



^.>. 93 

I wad hae gi'en them off my hiirjties,' 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdL-is ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rig^oodie hags, wad spean a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,' 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 
But Tam kend what was what fu' 

brawlie, 
"There was ae winsome wench and 

walie," 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 3 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty* sark, o' Paisley harn,3 
That, while a lassie, she had worn. 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.— 
Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coft "for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her 

riches,) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 
But here my muse her wing maun 

cour ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang 
(A souple jade she was, and Strang), 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd. 
And thought his very e'en enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and 

main : 
Till first ae caper, syne ^ anither, 
Tam tints his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty- 

sark !"_ 
And in an instant all was dark ; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,' 
When plundering herds assail theil 

byke ; ^° _ 
As open pussie's mortal foes. 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose; 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 



* Loins. * Short staff. 

3 Barley. 4 Short. 

S Very coarse linen. 6 Bought 

7 Then. 8 Lost. » Bustle. '"Hiva 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Wken, "Catch the thief!" resounds 

aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' moniean eldritch skreech and hol- 
low. 

Ah, Tain ! ah. Tarn ! thou'll get thy 
fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman 1 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane * of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ;' 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. 
Or cutty-sarks nm in your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



STANZAS 



(written in 1787.) 

Whose is that noble, daimtless brow ? 
And whose that eye of fire ? 

' It is a well-known fact, that witches, 
or any evil spirits, have no power to 
follow a poor wight any farther than 
the middle of the next running stresmu 
It may be proper likewise to mention 
to the benighted traveller, that when 
he falls in with bogles, whatever danger 
maj be in his going forward, there is 
much more hazard in turning back. — 
R. B. = Effort. 

' The Ear^ rf Gleasairn, a kind patron 



And whose that generous princely mieiv 
EVn rooted foes admire t 

Stranger, to justly show that brow. 

And mark that eye of fire. 
Would take his hand, whose vemsi 
tints 

His other works inspire. 

Bright as a cloudless summer sun. 
With stately port he moves ; 

His guardian seraph eyes with awe 
The noble ward he loves. 

Among th' illustrious Scottish sons 
That chief thou mayst discern ; 

Mark Scotia's fond returning eye- 
It dwells upon Glencaim. 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN 
GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COL- 
LECTING THE ANTIQUITIES 
OF THAT KINGDOM. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither 

Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's ;— 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : ' 
A chield's amang you, taking notes. 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Ujpon a fine, fat, fodgel ^ wight, 
O stature short, but genius bright. 

That's he, mark weel— 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel.3 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,* 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin. 
It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 
Some eldritch part, 

of Bums. See the poet's "Lament 

p. 89. 
^ I advise you to look to it. 
^ Plump. 3 Chalk and red clay 

♦ Building-— Vide hif "Antiquitief 

of Scotland '— R. B. 



Wr ieils, they say, Lord safe's 1 col- 
leagTiin 

At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or 

chamer. 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor. 
And you deep read in hell's black 
granunar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer. 
Ye midnight bitches. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat* the spurtle-blaie, 

Aiid dog-skin wallet. 
And ta'en the — ^Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth'^ o' auld nick-nackets ; 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets, 3 
VVad hand the Lothians three in tack- 
ets,4 

A towmont 5 gude, 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-back- 

Before the Flood. 
Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld 1 ubalcain's fire-shool and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 
Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg. 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg,^ 

Or lang-kail gullie.7 — 

But wad ye see him in his glee — 
For meikle glee and fun has he, — 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi' him ; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee. 

And then ye'll see him ! 



^ Has quitted. " Plenty. 

5 Vide his " Treatise on Ancient 
Armour and Weapons."— R. B. 

♦ Na*^. S A twelvemonth. 

6 Clasp-knife. ? Large knife. 



Now, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say. Shame fa' thee ) 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARK 
LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FEL- 
LOW HAD JUST SHOT AT.^ 

April, 1789. 
Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rou* 
art. 
And blasted be thy murdet-aiming 

eye; 
May never pity soothe thee with a 
sigh. 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart I 

Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood 
and field. 
The bitter little that of life remains ; 
No more the thickening brakes and 
verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pas- 
time yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of 
wonted rest. 
No more of rest, but now thy dying 

bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er 
thy head. 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom 



Oft as by winding nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerfal 



_ ^ I have just put the last hand to a 
little poem, which I think will be some- 
thing to yom- taste. One morning lately 
as I was out pretty early in the fields 
sowing some grass seeds, I heard the 
burst of a shot from a neighbouring 
plantation, and presently a poor littla 
wounded hare came crippling by me, 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy 
lawn, 
ind curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn 
thy hapless fate. 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF 
THOMSON, ON CROWNING 
HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROX- 
BURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood. 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Oi pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes .iEolian strains between : 
Wliile Summer, with a matron grace. 

Retreats to Dryburgh s cooUng shade. 
Vet oft, delighted, stops to trace 

The progress of the spiky blade : 
While Autumn, benefac|or kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head. 
And sees, with self-approving mind. 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 
Wliile maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow 
_ flows. 
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of 
snows : — 
So long, sweet Poet of the year. 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well 
hast won ; 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son . 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, A 
VERY YOUNG LADY; WRIT- 
TEN ON THE BLANK LEAF 
OF A BOOK PRESENTED TO 
HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay. 
Blooming in thy early May," 

' The " dear little Jeanie " of one of 
his letters ; her father was a Master in 
&e High School at Edinburgh. 



Never maj^'st thou, lovely Flov V, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path. 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath. 
Never baleful stellar lights. 
Taint thee with untimely blights 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 
May'st thou long, sweet ctimsca 
gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some eVning, sober, calm. 
Dropping dews, and breathing baini. 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings, 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours roimd, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birthi 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPA- 
PER, THE DEATH OF JOHN 
M'LEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO 
A YOUNG LADY, A PARTI-. 
CULAR FRIEND OF THE AU- 
THOR. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew, 
The morning rose may blow ; 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's mom 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding cloudl 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords. 
That Nature finest strung ; 

So Isabella's heart was form'd. 
And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone. 
Can heal th* wsund He gav« ; 



Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtu-i's blossoms there shall blow. 
And fear no withering blast ; 

Theri; Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



IHE HUMBLE PETITION OF 
BRIJAR WATER' TO THE 
NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

M^" Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phcebus' scorching beams. 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering waste my foamy streams 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

]<ast day I grat^ wi' spite and teen. 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a Bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Even as I was he shor'd 3 me ; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 
Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks. 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roarin o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, all ho' I sayt mysel. 

Worth gaun^ a mile to see. 

' Bmai Falls, in Athole, are exceed- 
ingly picturesque and beautiful; but 
iheir effect is much impaired by the 
want of trees and shrubs — R. B. 

' Wept. 3 Offeied. 4 Going. 



Would then my noble mastet pleare 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'iing 
trees. 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 
The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink. Music's gayest child» 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhiu 
clear. 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive Autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow : 
This, too, a covert shall ensure. 

To shield them from the stonn ; 
And coward maukin ^ sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 

From prone-descending show'rs. 
And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair. 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charmi 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms. 

To screen the dear embrace. 
Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray. 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn. 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam. 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees. 
Rave to my darkly dashing stream. 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool. 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines dretf 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the httle songster's nest. 

The close embow'ring thorn. 



Har«. 



JVORKS OF BURNS 



So may Old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 
r»iTo social-flowing glasses. 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonny lasses ! " 



LAMENT ON FERGUSSON.' 

(written in 1792. — INSCRIBED BY 

THE POET ON A COPY OF THE 

PERIODICAL CALLED " THE WORLD.") 

Ill-fated genius ! Heav'n-taught 
Fergusson ! 
What heart that feels, and will not 
_ yield a tear, 
To think life's sun did set, ere well begun 
To shed' its influence on thy bright 
career. 

Oh, why should truest worth and genius 
pine 
Beneath the iron grasp of Want and 
Woe, 

* This was Robert Fergusson, the lyric 
poet, who was bom at Edinburgh about 
1750, and died in 1774. He was buried 
in Canongate churchyard, Edinburgh, 
where his friend Burns erected a 
monument to his memory. His poems, 
written in the Scottish dialect, and 
Briginally published in Ruddiman's 
" Weekly Magazine^" possess consider- 
able merit. His talents and conversa- 
tional powers rendered his company 
extremely attractive ; and the excesses 
into which he was led impaired his 
constitution, and eventually rendered 
him the inmate of a lunatic asylum, 
where he died at the early age of 
twenty-four. That Bums held him in 
great esteem is evident from what he 
says in the preface to the first edition 
of his works : — " To the genius of a 
Ramsay or the glorious dawnings of 
the poor unfortunate Fergusson, he, 
with equal unaffected sincerity, declares 
that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, 
Ue has not tK2 most distant pretension." 



While titled knaves and idiot greatnei* 

shine 
In all the splendour Fortune caui 

bestow ' 



WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR 
PILOT STOOD, 

A FRAGMENT. 
TUNE — " GII.LICRANKIE." 

When Guilford good our Pilot stood. 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea. 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,* 

And in the sea did jaw,^ man ; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery take*» 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 
Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 

Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

• For Philadelphia, man : 

Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 
Guid Christian bluid to draw, man j 

But at New York, wi' knife an' fork. 
Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whijk 
Till Eraser brav« did fa', man ; 

Then lost his way, ae misty day. 
In Saratoga shaw, man. 

' Tea-pot. 

* Jerk. The English Parliament 
having imposed an excise duty upon tea 
imported into North America, the East 
India Company sent several ships lades 
with that article to Boston, and thf 
natives went on board by force of armg^ 
and emptied the cargo into *he sea. 



rAjrnwallj* fought SK long's he dought,' 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
Bf.t Clinton's glaive frae rust tc save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 
Then Montague, an' Guilford too. 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the 
stoure. 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nap mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box. 

An' lows'd his tinkler^ jaw, man. 
Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till death did on him ca', man : 
WhenShelbume meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to Gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise. 

They did his measures thraw, man ; 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', map 
Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's 
cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads. 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur them a', man ! " 
Behind the throne thenGrenville's gone, 

A secret word or tvva, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly 
graith 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man), 
Wi' kindling eyes cryd, " Willie, rise ! 

Would I hae fear's them a', man?" 
ButjWOrd an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., 

Ck>wff'd3 Willie like a ba', man, 
rill Suthrons raise, an' coost their 
claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid. 

To make it guid in law, man. 



'He was able. 'Tinker. SStrucIb 

LofC. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O MKIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty. 
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin"; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie 
My Tocher's the jewel has charms 
for him. 
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; 
It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the 
bee; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the 
siller. 
He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny. 
My Tocher's the bargain you wad 
buy; 

But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', 
Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun 

Ye're like to the tmimer o' yon rotten 

wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten 

tree, 

Ye'U sUp frae me like aknotless thread. 

And ye'U crack your credit wi' mae 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH- 
ACHE ; WRITTEN WHEN THE 
AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY 
TORMENTED BY THAT DIS- 
ORDER. 

My cin-se upon thy venom'd stang. 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs \gies monie a twang 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 

Like racking engines ! 

When fevers bum, or ague freezes. 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But tnee^-thou hell o' a' diseases. 

Aye mocks our groan i 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



A-down my beard the sla\ers trickle ! 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets ^ keckle 

To see meloup; 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 
O' a' the num'rous human dools,^ 
111 har'sts, daft bargams, cutty-stools. 
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools,^ 

Sad sight to see ! 
Tlie tricks o' knaves, or fash'* o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree.S 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell. 
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell. 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell. 

In dreadfu' raw,6 
Thou,Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a' ! 
O thou grim mischief-making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel. 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth-ache ! 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POST- 
HUMOUS CHILD, BORN IN 
PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES 
OF FAMILY DISTRESS.? 

SwEBT flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 
And ward o' mony a prayer. 



' Young girls. ^ Griefs. 3 Clods. 

4 Care. 5 The palm. 6 Row. 

1 "As cold waters to a thirsty soul, 
so is good news from a far country." 
Fate has long owed me a letter of good 
news from you, in return for the many 
ladings of sorrow which I have received. 
In this instance I most cordially obey 
the Apostle — "Rejoice with them that 
do rejoice" — for me to sing for joy is 
no new thing; but to preach for joy, 
as I have done in the commencement 
of this epistle, is a pitch of extravagant 
rapture to which I never rose before. 
I read your letter — I literally jumped 
for joy — how could such a mercurial 



What heart o'stane wad thou iia taon 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 
November hirples ' o'er the lea. 

Chill on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 
May He, who gives the rain to pour, 

And wings the blast to blaw. 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r. 

The bitter frost and snaw. 
May He, the friend of woe and want 

Who heals life's various stounds," 
Protect and guard the mother plant. 

And heal her cruel wounds. 
But late she flourish'd, rooted fast. 

Fair on the summer morn : 
Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem 

Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 
STANDING BY THE FALL OF 
FYERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged 

woods 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy 

floods. 



creature as a poet lumpishly keep his 
seat on the receipt of the best news 
from his best friend ? I seized my gilt- 
headed wangee rod, an instrvununt in- 
dispensably necessary, in my left hand 
in the moment of inspiration and rap 
ture ; and stride, stride — quick and 
quicker — out skipped I among the 
broomy banks of Nith, to muse ovei 
my joy by retail. To keep within th« 
bounds of prose was impossible. Mrs 
Little's is a more elegant, but not a 
more sincere compliment to the sweel 
little fellow than I, extempore aXmoSU 
poured out to him, in the following 
verses." — Burk^^o Mrs. D-unlop,'ii<ss, 
i-^. ' Creeps. ^ Heart- paujjs. 



nil full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
(Vhisre, thro' a shapeless breach, his 

stream resounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow. 
As deep recoiling surges foam below. 
Prone down the rock the whitening 

iheet descends, 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, 

rends. 
Dim-seen, thro' rising mists, and cease- 
less show'rs, 
rhe hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, 

low'rs. 
Still, -thro' the gap the struggling river 

toils, 
\nd still, below, the horrid catildron 

boils— 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE,- A 
BROTHER POET. 
AuLD Neibor, 
I'm three times,doubly,o'eryourdebtor. 
For your auld-farrant, ' frien'ly letter; 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair. 
For my puir^ silly, rhymin clatter 
Some less maun sair." 

Hale be your heart, hale be your 

fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck^ jink and did- 
dle, 
Tae cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit ; * 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae neglecklt ; 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hatms as you sud ne'er be faiket.S 

Be hain't 6 wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 
Riviu' the words tae gar them clink ; 

' Sagacious. ' Serve. 3 Elbow. 
' Inattentive. 5 Unknown. 6 Spared. 



Whyles daez't wi' love, whyle* omc^ 
wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but aye owre late, I think 
Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin clink. 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban,' 

They ever think. 



Nae thought, nae view, nae 

o' livin', 

Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' ; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in. 

An' while ought's there. 
Then hiltie, skUtie, we gae scrievin', 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme !^ it 's aye a trea- 
sure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleastu-e. 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch3 be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you monie a 

shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie 
Frae door ta door. 



THE INVENTORY, 

IN ANSWER TO THE USUAL MANDATl 
SENT BY A SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES, 
REQUIRING A RETURN OP THE NUM- 
BER OF HORSES, SERVANTS, CA* 
RIAGES, ETC., KEPT. 

Sir, as youi mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 

' Swear. 

' A phrase of endearmecC 

3 Coarse. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



My horses, servants, carts, ar.d graith. 
To vthich I'm free to tak my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
[ ha'e four brutes o' gallant mettle. 
As ever drew afore a pettle ; ^ 
My hand-afore,^ a gude auld has-ieen. 
An' vifight an' wilfu' a' his days been ; 
My hand-ahin,3 a weel gaun fillie. 
That aft has borne me hame frae 

Killie,4 
An' your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride. 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins, an' that too ! ) 
I played my fillie sic a shavie. 
She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 
My fur-ahinS 's a gude, grey beast. 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd, — 
The fourth, a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — d red-wud, Kilburnie blastie ; 
Foreby a Cowte, o' Cowtes the wale. 
As ever ran afore a tail ; 
If he be spar'd to be a beast. 
He'll draw me fifteen pimd at least. — 

Wheel carriages I ha'e but few. 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o' the spindle. 
An' my auld mither brunt the trindle. 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
A gaudsman 6 ane, a thrasher t' other. 
Wee Davoc hands the nowte in fother.? 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly. 
An' aften labour them completely. 
An' ay on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till faith, wee Davoc's tum'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 



^ Plough-staff. 

' The fore-horse on the left-hand in 
the plough.— R. B. 

3 The hindmost on the left-hand in 
the plough.— R. B. 

4 Kilmarnock. — R. B. 

5 The hindmost horse on the right- 
Hand in the plough. — R. B. 

6 Plough-driver. 

1 Black cattle in fodder. 



He'll screed you aff Effectual Callinib 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. — 

I've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation (1 
I ha'e nae wife ; and that my bliss is, 
An' ye ha'e laid nae tax on misses , 
An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm miir than weel con- 
tented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace. 
But her, my bonny sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the L— d ! ye'se get them a' thegi* 
ther. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle. 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit !-• 
The Kirk an' you may tak' you that. 
It puts but little in your pat ; ^ 
Sae dinna put me in your buke. 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list wi' my ain han' I wrote it. 
Day an' date as under notit : 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic, 

Robert Burns. 

Mossgiel, February 7.2nd, 1786. 



THE WHISTLE." 

A BALLAD. 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the 
North. 



^ " The highest gentry of the coun- 
ty," writes Mr. J. G. Lockhart, "when- 
ever they had especial merriment « 



Was brought to the court of our good 
Scottisli king, 

And long with this Whistle all Scot- 
land shall ring. 



raw, <: lUed in the wit and eloquence 
of Burns to enliven their carousals. The 
lamous song of ' The Whistle of Worth' 
conunemorates a scene of this kind, more 
picturesque in some of its circumstances 
than every day occurred, yet strictly 
m character with the usual tenor of 
life among this jovial sqiiirearchy. 
'\ hese gentlenien, of ancient descent, 
had met to deteimine, by a solemn 
drinking match, who should possess 
thi; Whistle, which a common ancestor 
of them all had earned ages before in 
a Bacchanalian contest of the same 
sort with a noble toper from Den- 
mark ; and the poet was summoned to 
watch over and celebrate the issue of 
the debate." The following is Bums' 
description of the prize and the struggle. 
He seems, however, to have fallen into 
some error as to the date: — "As the 
authentic prose history of the Whistle 
is curious, I shall here give it. — In the 
train of Anne of Denmark, when she 
came to Scotland with our James the 
Sixth, there came over also a Danish 
gentleman of gigantic stature and great 
prowess, and a matchless champion of 
Bacchus. He had a httle ebony 
Whistle, which at the commencement 
of the orgies he laid on the table, 
and whoever was last able to blow it, 
everybody else being disabled by the 
potency of the bottle, was to carry off 
the Whistle as a trophy of victory. 
The Dane produced o»ede.\tials of his 
victories, without a single defeat, at 
the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the 
petty courts in Germany ; and chal- 
lenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the 
alternative of ixyia^ his _ prowess, or 
else of acknowledging their inferiority. 
— Aftet many overthrows on the part 
of the Scots, the Dane was encountered 
by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, 
wcestor of the present worthy Baronet 
•f that name, who, after three day. and 



Old Loda,' still rueing the arm of 

Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from 

his hall— 
"This Whistle's your challenge in 

Scotland get o'er, 
And drink them to hell. Sir, or ne'er 

see me more !" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicle* 
tell. 

What champions ventur'd, what cham- 
pions fell ; 

The son of great Loda was conqueror 
still. 

And blew on the Whistle his requiem 
shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and 

the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle ; imconqueVd 

in war. 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as 

the sea. 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than 

he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has 

gain'd. 
Which now in his house has for ages 



three nights' hard contest, left the 
Scandinavian under the table, 

' And blew on the Whistle his re- 
quiem shrill.' 

"Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert, be- 
fore mentioned, afterwards lost the 
Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, 
who had married a sister of Sir Walter. 
On Friday, the i6th October, 1790, at 
Friars-Carse, the Whistle was once 
more contended for, as related m the 
ballad, by the present Sir Robert 
Lowrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, 
Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant 
and representative of Walter Riddel, 
who won the Whistle, and in whose 
family it had continued ; and Alexander 
Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, like 
wise descended of the great Sir Robert, 
which last gentleman carried off the 
hard-won honours of the field." 

' See Ossian's " Caric-thura." — R. & 



IPURKS OF BURNS. 



rill three noble chieftainSj and all of 

his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts 

clear of flaw : 
Craig larroch, so famous for wit, worth, 

and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old 

And gallant_ Sir Robert, deep-read in 
old wines. 

CraJgdarroch began with a tongue 

smooth as oil. 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the 

spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of 

the clan. 
And once more, in claret, try which 

was the man. 

■' By the gods of the ancients 1" Glen- 
riddel replies, 

" Before I siurender so glorious a 
prize, 

I'L :onjure the ghost of the great Ro- 
rie More, 

And bumper his horn with him twenty 
times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would 

pretend, 
But he ne'er tum'd his back on his foe — 

or his friend. 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize 

of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere 

he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes 

repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and 

care; 
But for wine and for welcome not more 

known to fame. 
Than the sense, wit, and taste of a 

sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray. 
Awl tell future ages the feats of the 
day; 



' See Johnson's 
de»."-R. B. 



'Tour to the He- 



A bard who detested all sadness anJ 

spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard 

had been. 
The dinner bemg over, the claret they 

ply. 

And evry new cork is a new spring ol 

In the bands of old friendship and 
kindred so set. 

And the bands grew the tighter tho 
more they were wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as biunpers ran 
o'er ; 

Bright Phcebus ne'er witness'd so joy- 
ous a core. 

And vow]d that to leave them he wai 
quite forlorn. 

Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next 

Six bottles a- piece had well wore out 

the night. 
When gallant Sir Robert," to finish the 

fight, 
Tum'd o'er in one bumper a bottle ol 

red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their 

ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautiouj 

and sage, 
No longer the warfare, imgodly, would 

wage ; 
A high-ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less 

divine. 
The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to 

the end ; 
But who can with Fate and quart 

bumpers jontend ? 
Though Fate s£.j[d, a hero should perish 

in light ; 
So uprose bright Phoebus — and down 

fell the knight. 
Next uprose our bard like a prophet 

in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when cre- 
ation shall sink ! 
But if thou would flourisJ* immortal is 

rhyme. 
Come — one bottle more- am^ Saw W 

the sublime ! 



"Thj line, that have struggled for 

Freedom with Bruce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
Bo thine be the laurel, and mine be the 

bay; 
ITxe iield thou hast won, by yon bright 

god of day !" 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789. 

Wow,' but your letter made me vaun- 

tie! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye. 

And then ye'U do. 
The ill-thief blaw the Heron = south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth I 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth. 

He'd tak my letter ; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth. 

And bade nae better. 
But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time sorne dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear3 on. 

E'en tried the body. 
But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,* 
I'm tum'd a ganger — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear 

Ye'U now disdain me 1 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ve glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty 
limbies. 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
l^at Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

* All exclamation of pleasure. 
■ Robert Heron, who wote a His- 
Vtry of Scotland, and a Life of Bums. 
» Learaing * Brother. 



I hae a wife and Swa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats </ 

duddies ; ' 
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proiid 
is — 

I need na vaunt 
But I'll sned' besoms — thraw saugb 
woodies,^ 

Before they want. 
Lord, help me thro' this warld o* care i 
I'm weary sick o't late and air 1 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare. 

And a' men brithers t 
Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van— 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp* in man 1 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can. 

Will whyles the mair. 
But to conclude my silly rhyme 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time). 
To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife. 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 
My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucl^, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckle. 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockle, 

I m yours for ay, 
Robert BuRNSi 



PROLOGUE, SPOKEN AT THH 
THEATRE, ELLISLAND.S 

No song nor dance I bring from yon 

great dty 
That queensito'er our taste— the more'* 

the pity ; 

* Rags of clothes. ' Lop. 
3 Twist willow ropes. 

* The male, or stronger stalk of hemp. 
5 We have gotten a set of very decent 

players here just now. I have seen 
them an eveninf or two. Davi4 



lo8 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Tho', Iby-the-bj abroad why will you 
roam? 

Good sense and taste are natives here 
at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new- 
year ! 

Old Father Time deputes me here be- 
fore ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple 
story : 

Th« sage grave ancient cough'd, and 
bade me say, 

" You're one year older this important 
day." 

If wis'»r too — ^he hinted some sugges- 
tion. 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask 
the question ; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and 
wink, 

He bade me on you press this one word 
— " think ! " 
Ye sprightly youths, quite flush'd 
with hope and spirit. 

Who think to storm the world by dint 
of merit. 

To you the dotard has a deal to say. 

In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb 
way ; 

He bids you mind, amid your thought- 
less rattle. 

That the first blow is ever half the 
battle ; 

That tho' some by the skirt may try to 
snatch him. 

Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch 
him ; 

That whether doing, suffering, or for- 
bearing, 

You may do miracles by persevering. 
Last, tho' not least in love, ye youth- 
ful fair, 

Aagelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar 
care I 



Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the 
manager of the company, a Mr. 
Southerland, who is a maic of apparent 
Worth._ On New-year-da> evening I 
pive him the following Prologue, which 
he spouted to his audience with ap- 
pose.— R. B. 



To you old Bald-pate smooths hH 

wrinkled brow. 
And humbly begs you'll mind the imp 

portant now ! 
To crown your happiness he asks your 

leave, _ 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 
For our sincere, tho' haply weak, eK" 

deavours, _ 
With grateful pride we own your many 

favours ; 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill 

reveal it, _ 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS 
BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a 

blow, _ 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd 

Burnet low. 

Thy form and-mind, sweet maid, can I 

forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set I 
In thee, high Heaven above Was truest 

shown. 
As by his noblest work the Godhead 

best is known. 

In vain, ye flaunt in summer's pride, yo 
groves ; 
Thou crystal streamlet with thy 
flowery shore. 
Ye woodland choir diat chant your idle 
loves. 
Ye cease to charm— Eliza is no more 1 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy 
fens ; 
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and 
rushes stor'd ; 
Ye rugged cliffs o'erhanging dreary 
glens. 
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 
Princes, Whose cumbrous ptide iras al 
their worth. 
Shall venal lays their pompous sxil 
hail? 



dnd fliou, sweet excellence ! forsake 
our »arth. 
And not a Muse in honest grief be- 
wail? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's 

pride, 
Axid virtue's light, that beams beyond 

the spheres ; 
But, like the sun eclips'd at morning 

tide. 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of 

tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in 
thee. 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief 
and care ; 
So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged 
tree; 
So, from it ravish' d, leaves it bleak 
and bare. 



LINES 
TO A MEDICAL FRIEND,' 



Friday first's the day appointed, 
By our right worshipful anointed. 

To hold our grand procession ; 
To get a blade o' Johnny's morals. 
And taste a swatch 3 o' Hanson's ^ 
barrels, 

I' the way of our profession. 

Our Master and the Brotherhood 

Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
F'^r me, I would be mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If death, then, wi' skaith, then, 

Some mortal heart is hetchin,S 
Inform him, and storm him, 
That Saturday ye'U fecht^ him, 
Robert Burns. 



' Mir. Mackenzie. 

' Th*; Saint James's Masonic Lodge 
lU Matichline> 3 Sample. 

* The name of a landlord, at whose 
kou&e the Masonic Lodge assembled. 

5 Threatening. 6 Fight. 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW 
WITH LORD DAER.' 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Bums, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprackled^ up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
I've been at drucken writers' feasts. 
Nay, been bitch-fou • mang godly priest! 

(Wi' reVrence be it spoken) ; 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum. 
When mighty Squireships of the quo- 
rum, _ 

Their hydra drouth did sloken 
But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son. 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 
But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart gIow'r,3 

And how he star d and stammer'd, 
When goavan,'*as if led wi' branks,S 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks. 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 
I sidling shelter'd in a nook. 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look. 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense and social gke. 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 
I watch'd the symptoms o' the great. 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he. 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could sec, 

Mair than an honest ploughman- 
Then from his lordship I shall learn. 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another ; 



' Son of the Earl of Selkirk. Buro* 
was introduced to him by Dugald 
Stewart. 

^ Clambered. 3 Frightened staie 

•t Walking with stupid wonder. 

S A curb bridle. 



iVORRS OF BURNS. 



Nae honest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 
For he but meets a brother. 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 



While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty 
things, 

The fate of Empires and the fall of 
Kings ; 

While quacks of State must each pro- 
duce his plan. 

And even children lisp The Rights of 
Man; 

Amid the mighty fuss, just let me men- 
tion. 

The Rights of Woman merit some 
attention. 
First, in the Sexes' intermixed con- 
nexion, 

One sacred Right of Woman is. Pro- 
tection. — 

The tender flower that lifts its head, 
elate. 

Helpless, must fall before the blasts of 
Fate, 

Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely 
form, 

Unless your shelter ward th' impend- 
ing storm. 
Our second Right — ^but needless here 
is caution, 

To keep that Right inviolate's the 
fashion. 

Each man of sense has it so full before 
him. 

He'd die before he'd wrong it — ^"tis De- 
corum. 

There was, indeed, in far less polish'd 
days, 

A time, when rough rude man had 
naughty ways ; 

Vould swagger, swear, get drunk, kick 
up a riot, 

Nay, even thus invade a Lady's quiet ! — 

Mow, thank our star»l those Gothic 
times are fled ; 



Now, well-bred men — and you are all 

well-bred ! 
Most justly think (and we are mush tiM 

gainers) 
Such conduct, neither spirit, wit, km 



For Right the third, our last, our 

best, our dearest. 

That Right to fluttering female hearts 
the nearest. 

Which ev'n the Rights of Kings in low 
prostration 

Most humbly owai — ^'tis dear, dear Ad 
miration ! 

In that blest sphere alone we live and 
move; 

There taste that life of life — immortal 
Love. — 

Sighs, tears, smiles, glances, fits, flirta- 
tions, airs, 

'Gainst such an host what flinty savage 
dares — 

When awful Beauty joins with all her 
charms, 

Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 
Then truce with kings, and truce with 
constitutions. 

With bloody armaments and revolu- 
tions ! 

Let Majesty your first attention sum- 
mon, 

Ah ! Qa ira ! The Majesty of Womai* I 



ADDRESS, 



SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE, ON 

HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DECEMBER 

4, 179s, AT THE THEATRE, 

DUMFRIBS. 

Still anxious to secure your partial 

favour. 
And not less anxious, sure, this niglit, 

than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such 

matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing 

better ; 
So sought a poeli roosted near the skies, 
Told him I came to feast my curiou] 

eyes; 



Said, nothing like Ma works was ever 

printed ; 
Ajid last, my Prologue-business slily 

hinted. 
" M&'am, let me tell you," quoth my 

man of rhymes, 
" I know your bent — these are no 

laughing times ; 
Can you— but. Miss, I own I have my 

fears — 
Dissolve in pause, — and sentimental 

tears. 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded 

sentence, 
Rciuse from his sluggish slumbers fell 

Repentance ; 
i^aint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid 

stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a 

guilty land?" 
I could no more — askance the crea- 
ture eyeing, 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made 

for crying? 
I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the 

world shall know it ; 
And so, your servant ! gloomy Master 

Poet ! 
Firm as my creed. Sirs, 'tis my fix'd 

beUef, 
That Misery's another word for 

Grief; 
1 also think — so may I be a bride ' 
Ihat so much laughter, so much rife 

enjoyd. 
Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless 

sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting 

eye; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man 

alive — 
I'o make three guineas do the work of 

five : 
Laugh in misfortune's face — the beldam 

witch ! 
^y, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be 

nch. 
Thou othei man of care, the wretch in 

love, 
Who long with jiltish hearts and airs 

hast strove ; 
Who, as the Vsughs all temptingly pro- 



Measur'st m desperate thought — a rop» 

— thy neck — 
Or, where the beetlinsT cliff o'erhjjig* 

the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Would'st thou be tur'd, thou silly, 

moping elf? 
Laugh at her follies— laugh e'e» at 

thyself: 
Learn to despise those frowns now so 

terrific. 
And love a kinder— that's your gnui4 

specific. 
To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
And as we're merry, may we still be 

wise. 



addressed to miss ferrier, in- 
closing an elegy on sir jamk3 
hunter blair.* 

(written in 1787.) 

Nae heathen name shall I prefix 
Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; 

Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks. 
For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 

Jove's tunefu' dochters three time* 
three 

Made Homer deep their debtor ; 
But, gien the body half an ee. 

Nine Ferriers wad done better ! 

Last day my mind-was in a bog, 
Down George's Street I stoited,' 

A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog 
My very senses doited.'* 

Do what I dought to set her free. 

My saul lay in the mire ; 
Ye turned a neukS — I saw your ee— 
She took the wing like fire ! 



^ The accomplished noyellist, and 
daughter of Mr. J. Ferrier, one oi 
Bums' warmest patrons. 

* A great friend and patron of th( 
poet. 

3 Tottered. * Stupefied. S Cotmk 



1V0RKS OF BURNS. 



rhe mournfu' sang I here inclose, 

In gratitude I send you ; 
A ad wish and pray in rhyme sincere, 

A' guid things may attend you. 



VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY,» 

WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS. 

Here, where the Scottish Muse im- 
mortal lives. 
In sacred strains and tuneful num- 
bers Join'd, 
AcceiJt the gift ; tho' humble he who 
gives. 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful 
mind. 
So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords 
among ! 
But Peace attune thy gentle soul to 
rest. 
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph 
song; 

Dr Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 
As modest Want the tale of woe re- 
veals; 
While conscious Virtue all the strain 
endears. 
And heaven-bom Piety her sanction 
seals! 



POEM 
ON PASTORAL POETRY.' 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserVd ! 3 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae 

swerv'd 
Frae coaunon sense, or sunk enerv'd 
'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
And och ! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd, 
'Mid a' thy favours ! 



* Daughcerof Mr. Graham, of Fintry. 

' Gilbert Burns doubted the authen- 
bdty of these verses, but surely with- 
out reason. 3 Collins. 



Say, Lassie, why thy tta.,n amang, 
While loud the trump's heroic clang. 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage ? 



In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin,' till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro'« 

catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks ^ his skinklin' 
patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 
That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear. 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan— 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk4 behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tantal- 
lan,S 

But thou's for ever ! 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines. 
In thy sweet Caledonian Unes ; 
Nae gowden stream thro' myrtlel 
twines. 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens 6 thy bumie strays* 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 
Wi' hawthorns grey, 



* Dwarf. ® Dresses. 

3 Small. '• Stoop. 

5 The name of a castle. 

6 Daisied dales. 



^"here blackbirds join the shepherd's 
lays 

At close o' day. 

rhy niral loves are nature's sel ; 
Nae bombast spates ' o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love ; 
That charm that can the strongest 
quell. 

The sternest move. 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF 
THE 

LAST EDITION OF HIS POEMS, 

PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM 

HE HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED UNDER 

THE NAME OF CHLORIS.^ 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young 
fair friend. 

Nor thou the gift refuse. 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 
Since thou, in all thy youth and 
charms. 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 
Since, thy gay mom of life o'ercast. 

Chill came the tempest's lower, 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more. 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hs.st thou in store— 

The comforts of the mind ! 
Thine is the self-approving glow. 

On conscious honour's part ; 
And, dearest gift of Heaven below, 

Tldne friendship's truest heart, 
rhe joys refin'd of sense and taste, 

With ev'ry muse to rove : 
tnd doubly were the poet blest. 

These joys could he improve. 



' Torrents. 



' Jean Lorima^. 



POETICAL ADDRESS 
TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER. 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARO't 
PICTURE. 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart^ 
Of Stuart, a name once respected, 

A name, which to love was the aJark 
of a true heart, 
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected I 

Tho* something like moisture conglobes 
in my eye. 
Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well 
claim a sigh. 
Still more, if that wand'rer were 
royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on 
a throne ; 
My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their de- 
generate son ; 
That name should he scoffingly 
slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most 
heartily join. 
The Queen, and the rest of tho 
gentry ; 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is no- 
thing of mine ; 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a 
fuss. 

That gave us the Hanover stem ? 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we're on dangeroiM 
ground. 
Who knows how the fashions may 
alter? 
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty 
sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a he id of a bard, 
A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 

But accept it, good Sii, as a mark d 
regard. 
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer, 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Now life's chilly evening dim shades 

in your eye. 

And ushers the long dreary night ; 

But you like the star that athwart gilds 

the sky. 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



SKETCH,— NEW-YEAR DAY. 

TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

This day_ Time winds th' exhausted 

chain. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir. 
In vain assail them with their prayer. 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press. 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's' with the hounds. 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's " care to-day. 
And blooming Keith's 3 engaged with 

Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute bor- 
row — 
—That grandchild's cap will make to- 
morrow — 
And join with me a-moralizing ; 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver? 
"Another year is gone for ever." 
(^d what is this day's strong sugges- 
tion? 
" The passing moment's all we rest on !" 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year? 
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A. few days may, a few years must. 
Repose us in the silent dust ; 



' Major, afterwards General Andrew 
Oaalop, second son of Mrs. Dunlop. 

" Miss Rachel Dunlop. 

3 Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest 
^lighter. 



Then is it wise to damp our bliss f 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ' 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the sides 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as Heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as Misery's woful night. — 

Since then, my honoured, first 91 
friends, 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important Now employ. 
And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honCUll 
crown'd, 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse ; 
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;) 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward 



EXTEMPORE, 
ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, 

AUTHOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF 

NATURAL HISTORY, AND MEMBER OF 

THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL 

SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan' 

came, 
The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout 

the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its 

might. ; 
'Twas four long nights and days . to 

shaving night ; 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild star* 

ing, thatch'd 
A head, for thought profound and 

clear, unmatch'd : 



' There was a club in Edinburgh— 
the Crochallan Fencibles— of whicl 
Burns and Smellie were members. 



iTet tLo' his caustic wit wsis biting, rude, 
(lis heart was warm, benevolent, and 
good. 



INSCRIPTION FOR AN 

ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, 

AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT 

OF MR. HERON ; 

WRITTEN IN SUMMER, I79S. 

Thou of an independent mind. 

With soul resolVd, with soul resign'd ; 

Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to 

brave. 
Who wilt not be nor have a sJave ; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear. 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



MONOD-V ON A LADY FAMED 
FOR HER CAPRICE.' 

How cold is that bosom which folly 
once fir'd ; 
How pale is that cheek where the 
rouge lately glisten'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the 
echoes oft tir'd; 
How dull is that ear which to flattery 
so Usten'd ! 

Cf sorrow and anguish their exit await. 
From IKendship and dearest affec- 
tion remoVd ; 
How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate ! 
Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst 
unloVd. 

Lov>^ Graces and Virtues, I call not 
on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed 
not a tear : 



* Thelady was the Mrs. Riddel, whose 
Vune so often occurs in the Poet's 
history. 



But come, all ye offspring of Folly so 
true. 
And flowers let us cull for Eliza'i 
cold bier. 
We'll search thro' the garden for each 
silly flower. 
We'll roam thro' the forest for each 
idle weed ; 
But chiefly the nettle,so typical, shower. 
For none e'erapproach'd her but ruet 
the rash deed. 
We'll sculpture the marble, we'll mea- 
sure the lay ; 
Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on 
her prey. 
Which spuming Contempt shall re- 
deem from his ire. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Herb lies, now a prey to insulting neg- 
lect. 
What once was a butterfly, gay in 
life's beam : 
Want only of wisdom denied her re- 
spect ! 
Want only of goodness denied her 
esteem. 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF 
ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., OF 
GLENRIDDEL; 

APRIL, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — no 
more ! 
Nor pour your descant, grating, en 

my soul ; 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy 
verdant stole. 
More welcome were to me grim Win- 
ter's wildest rc<ar. 
How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with al] 
your dyes ? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my 

friend : 
How can I to the tuneful strain at 
tend? 
The strain flows round th' untimeli 
tomb where Riddel hes. 



WORKS OF BURKTx. 



Ve«, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes 
of woe! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on 

this bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not 
left his peer. 
Is in his "narrow house" for ever 
darkly low. 

Thee. Spring, again with joy shall 

others greet ; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss wiU only meet. 



IMPROMPTU, ON 
MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTH-DAY, 

NOVEMBER 4, I793. 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd — 
What have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow ; 
My dismal months no joys are crown- 

But sj)leeny English, hanging, drown- 
ing. 
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil. 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say. 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me. 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot 

match me. 
Tisdone! says Jove; so ends my story. 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS, 
DUMFRIES, 



■rHiNE be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
^d vfith them take the Poet's prayer — 
That Fate may in her fairest page, 
Vith every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame. 



And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snaj-e ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of the mind^- 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the BamL 



EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME, 

ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM,- 

AFTER HAVING BEEN PROMISED TH» 

FIRST OF COMPANY AND THB 

FIRST OF COOKERY. 

DECEMBER I7TH, 179S. 

No more of your guests, be they titled 
or not, 
And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal convers« 
and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. SYME, 



O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind. 
Or hops the flavour of thy wit, _ 

'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit, 

yerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



SONNET, 

ON HEARING A THRUSH SING 

IN A MORNING WALK; 

WRITTEN JANUARY 2STH, I793, THB 

BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR, R. B., 

AGED 34. 

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leaf- 
less bough ; 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy 

strain : 
See aged Winter, 'mid his sinrly reign. 
At thy blithe carol clears his fup-ow'H 
brow. 



So la lone Poverty's dominion drear- 
Sits meek Content with light unanx- 

ious h«art, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids 
them part. 
Nor asks if t^ey biins 'lught to hope 
or fear. 

I thank thee. Author of this opening 
day ! 
Thou whose bri^^ht sun now gilds 

the orient slues 1 
Riches denied, thy boon was purer 
joys, 
What wealth could never give, nor take 
away ! 

Vet come, thou child of poverty and 

care ; 
Tbo mite high HeaVn bestow'd, that 

mite with thee I'll share. 



POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR- 
MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 
1796. 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
Alake, alake, the meikle Deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel. 

In my poor pouches. 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood 
dunted,' 

I'd bear't in mind. 

>o may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

' Beat. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard this while how I've b«eB 

licket. 
And by fell Death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket,' 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket. 

And tum'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't. 
My heal and weal I'll take a care o'^ 

A tentier ^ way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o'tb 

For ance and aye. 



SENT TO A GENTLEMAN 
WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED. 



The friend whom wild from wisdom's 



(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that haplesi 
friend ? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part. 
Ah why should I such scenes outlive J 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



POEM ON LIFE, ADDRESSED 
TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER ;> 
DUMFRIES, 1796. 

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah 1 how sma' heart hae I to sped* 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill. 

And potion glasses 



» Waistcoat. » Wiser. 

' Colonel of the Dumfries Vokiw 
tears. * Cliaib. 



nt 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



O what a canty warld were it, 
Would pain, and caie, and sickness 

spare it ; 
And fortune favour worth and merit. 

As they deserve : 
(And aye a rowth, ^ roast beef ind claret; 

Syne, wha wad starve ?) 
Dame Life, though fiction out may trick 

her, 
An'l in paste gems and fripp'ry deck her ; 
Oh ! flick'ring, feeble, and unsicker ^ 

I've found her still. 
Aye wav'ring like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 
ITien that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons 3 by a rattan,'* 
Ous- sinfu' saul to get a clautS on 

Wr felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast 
saut on, — 

He's aff like fire. 
Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair. 
First showing us the tempting ware. 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne * weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's d— d waft.7 
Poop man, the flie, aft bizzes by. 
And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh, 
Thy auld d— d elbow yeuks with joy. 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already, in thy fancy's eye. 

Thy sicker 8 treasure. 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdy ! * in he gangs. 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs. 
Thy girning'° laugh enjoys his pangs. 

And murd'ring wrestle 
As, dangling- in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 
But lest you think I am uncivil. 
To plague you with this draunting 

drivel. 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The LoT"! preserve us frae the Devil ! 

Ameal amenl 



' Plenty. 
«Rat. 



3 Cat. 
5 A scrape. 
» Thea. ? Woof. » Sure. 

• Top»y-turvy. " Grinning. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 
OF FINTRY, ON RECEIVING 
A FAVOUR. 

I CALL no Goddess to inspire my strains, 

A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that 
feigns ; 

Friend of my life 1 my ardent spirit 
bums, 

And all the tribute of my heart returns, 

For boons recorded, goodness ever new, 

The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 
Thou orb of day ! thou other paler 
light ! 

And all ye many sparkling stars of 
night ; 

If aught that giver from my mind ef- 
face ; 

If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 

Then roll to me, along your wand'ring 
spheres. 

Only f o number out a villain's years ! 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest. 
As e'er God with his image blest ; 
The friendofman.the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age.and guide of youth : 
Few hearts like his, with virtue 

warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so in- 
form'd : 

If there's another world,he lives in bliss ; 

If there is none, he made the best of this. 



EPISTLE 
TO WILLIAM CREECH.' 

Auld chuckle Reekie's" sair distrest, 
Down drops her ance weel bumisht 
crest, 

' The inclosed I have just wrote. 
nearly extempore, in a solitary inn ia 
Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's 
riding.— R. B. 

* Edinburgh. 



POBMS. 



i»r 



itCae joy hei bonnie buskit' nest 

Can yield ava. 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's avva ! 

O Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o'_ things an unco slight ; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight. 

An' trig ^ an' braw. 
But now they'll busk her like a fright, 

WilUe's awa ! 
The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he covv'd; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd. 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie 3 weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 
Now gawkies, tawpies,"* gowks, and 

fools, 
Erae colleges and boarding-schools. 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw ;S 
He wha could brush them down to 
mools, 

Willie's awa ! 
The brethren o' the Commerce-Chau- 

merfi 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' cla- 
mour ; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a' ; 
I fear they^ll no w mak mony a stammer, 

Willie's awa ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour. 
And toothy critics by the score, 

In bloody raw ; 
rhe adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa ! 
Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace : 
NI'Kenzie, Stewart — such a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa I 



' Ornamented. * Neat. _ 

3 Clever fellow. * Silly girls. 

5 Wood in a hollow. 
' The Chamber of Commerce in 
FdJnburgh. 



Poor Bums e'en Scotch drink canna 

quicken. 
He cheeps' like some bewildered 

chicken 
Scar'd frae its niinnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ;^ 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kicldn', 

Willie's awa I 
Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum. 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum"* 

His quill may draw ; 
He wha could brawlie ward theii beV 
lum, 

Willie's awa ! 
Up whimpling stately Tweed I've sped. 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red. 

While tempests blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 

Willie's awa ! 
May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streeldt out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 
May never wicked fortune touzle him } 
May never wicked men bamboozle himl 
Until a pow 6 as auld's Methusalem 

He canty claw '.^ 
Then to the blessed New Jemsaleni, 

Fleet wing awa ' 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER, 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 
For every creature's want ! 

We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 
For all thy goodness lent : 

And, if it please thee. Heavenly Gmde^ 
May never worse be sent ; 



' Chirps. « Blood-crow. 

3 Tallung fellow. 4 Scamp. 

5 Creech was the chief pubUsher u 
Edinburgh. 

6 Head. 7 Cheerful scratcb 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Biit whether granted or denied. 
Lord, bless us with conlent ! 

Amen I 



INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMB 

STONE ERECTED BY BURNS 

TO THE MEMORY OF 

FERGUSSON.' 

'Here lies Robert Fergusson, Poet, 
bom September 5th, 1751 — Died, 
r6th October, 1774." 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor ijom- 
pous lay, 
"No storied urn, nor animated bust ; " 
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's 
way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's 
dust. 



A. VERSE COMPOSED AND RE- 
PEATED BY BURNS, TO THE 
MASTER OF THE HOUSE, ON 
TAKING LEAVE AT A PLACE 
IN THE HIGHLANDS, WHERE 
HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY 
ENTERTAINED. 

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come ; 

In Heaven itself I'll ask no more. 
Than just a Highland welcome. 



LIBERTY— A FRAGMENT." 

I'HEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 

among. 
Thee, famed for martial deed and 

sacred song, 



' Bums had asked permission of the 
Bailies of Canongate, to "lay a simple 
Itone over the revered ashes" of 
Fergusson. 

' The Fragment was the amusement 



To thee I turn with swimming eyes i 
Where is that soul of Freedom fled? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 
Beneath the hallow'd turf wher« 
Wallace lies ! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed ol 
death ! 
Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep; 
Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 
Is this the power in Freedom's war. 
That wont to bid the battle rage? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal 
hate, 
Crushing the despot's proudest heal- 
ing. 
That arm which, nerved with thunder- 
ing fate, 
Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quench'd in darkness, hke the 

sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, 
powerless age. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF 
ROBERT RUISSEAUX.* 

Now Robin lies in his last lair. 

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing naemair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' himgry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him ; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care _ 

ii'er mair come near him. 
To tell the truth, they seldom fashthim, 
Excejgt the moment that they crushi 

him; . 
For sune as chance, or fate, had hushi 
'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short. 
Then wi' a rhyme, or sang, he lasht 'era» 

And thought it sport. 
Tho' he was bred to kintra wark. 
And coimted was baith wight and stark,* 
Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 

of a lonely hour at a village inn, in tha 
summer of 1794. 

' In Ruisseaux, Bums plays on 119 
own name. 

" Stout and endtuins;. 



; tftK him, he was leam'd ai\d c^ark, 
Ye roos'd him than 1 



to rsrses addressed to the 

k)et by the guidwife of 

wauchope-house. ^ 

Gdidwife, 
I MIND it weel, in early date. 
When I was beardless, young, and blate. 

An' first could thrash the barn, 
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh. 
An' tho' fcrfoughten^ sair eneugh. 

Yet unco' proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow com 

A man I reckon'd was. 
And wi' the lave ilk merry mom 
Could rank my rig and lass. 
Still shearing and clearing 
The tither stooked raw,3 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,'* 
Wearing the day awa : 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power), 
A wish that, to my latest hour, 

Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake. 
Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear,5 

I tum'd the weeding-hook aside. 

An' spar'd the symbol dear : 

No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise ; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang. 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'st I said before, 
fcf y partner in the merry core. 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean. 

That lighted up my jingle, 

' Mrs. Scott, who had some skill in 
diyming and painting. 

* Tired. 3 The other row of shocks. 

* Nonsense. S Barley. 



Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That gart my heart-stnngs tingle : 
I fired, inspired. 

At ev'ry kindling keek,^ 

But bashing, and dashing, 

I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilkguid chiel saySi 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 

An' we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
The saul o' life, the heaVn below. 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name. 

Be mindfu' o' your mither : 
She, honest woman, may think shama 
That ye're connected with her. 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears : 
To shame ye, disclaim ye. 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre,® 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare, 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be uiair vauntie o' my hap,3 

Douce hingin' owre my curple. 
Than ony ermine ever lap. 
Or proud imperial purple. 
Fareweel then, lang heal then. 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at yoin: hallan ca'. 
Manh, 1787. 



LINES ON VIEWING STIRI.INO 
CASTLE.4 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd. 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain' d. 



* Look. " Stable, or iheep-pen. 

3 Mantle. 

4 Scratched with a diamond on a pane 
of glass at the inn where Bums was 
staying. As the lines were afterwards 
quoted to his prejudice, he smashed 
the pane of glass on his next visit ta 
StirUng. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But now unroof 'd their palace stands. 
Their sceptre sway'd by other hands. 
The iniur'd Stuart Hne is gone, — 
A race'outlandish fills their throne ; — 
An idiot race, to honour lost ; 
Who know them best despise them 
most. 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 

Sept. 13th, 1785. 
GuiD speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Guid health, hale bans, and weather 

bonny; 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny 

The staff, o' bread. 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs. 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it. 

But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 

Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
.\n' took my jocteleg^ an' what it. 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your 

debtor. 
For your braw, nameless, dateless 

letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill-nature 

On holy men. 
While Deil a hair yoursel ye're better, 
But mair profane. 

Put let the kirk-folk ring their bells. 
Let's sing about our noble sels ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us. 
But browster wives an' whiskie stills, 

They are the Muses. 
Your friendship. Sir, I winna quat it. 
An' if ye mak objections at it. 



' ClasfHknife. ' Alehouse wives. 



llxen han' in &• vc som* day wtfB 
knot it. 

An' witness take. 
An' when wi' Usquebae we've wat it 

It winna break. 
But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaim without the herd. 
An' a' the vittel in the yard. 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 
The muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae 
Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty 
Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty, 

Aa' be as canty 
As ye were nine years less than thretty. 

Sweet ane an' twenty 1 
But stooks are cowpet '^ wi' the blast. 
An' now the sinn keeks'" in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quit my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste 

Yoiur's, Rab the Ranter. 3 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. 

ENCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIB'S 
PRAY IR, WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED. 

Sept. 17th, 1785, 
While at the stook the shearers cow*! 
To shun the bitter blaudin' ** show'r. 
Or in guhavage rinnin scoui',S 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the horn: 

In idle rhyme. 
My musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet 
On gown, an' ban', an' douse black boB- 



5eps. 

3 It is very probable that the Po«l 
thus named himself after the Bordet 
Piper, so spiritedly introduced in tba 
popular song of " Maggie Lauder."— 
Cromek. 

4 Driving. 

5 Running in 'xynfusiou, like boW 
leaving school. 



Is grown righi eerie ' now she's done it. 
Lest they shou'd blame her, 

All' rouse their holy thunder on it, 
And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
That I, a simple countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack so sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me. 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie. 

Loose hell upon me. 
But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighin',cantin', grace-proud faces. 
Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile 
graces. 

Their raxin' ^ conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride dis- 
graces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gawn,3 miska't waur than a 

beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than monie scores as guid 's the priest 

Wha sae abus'd him ; 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've us'd him? 

See him, the poor man's friend in need. 
The gentleman in word an' deed. 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums. 
An' no a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd 

be. 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be. 
But, tv, enty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean, 
riian unier Gospel colours hid be. 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass, 
Ka hbaest man may Uke a lass. 



* ^'lighted. _ ' Stretching. 

3 Gavin Hamilton. 



But mean revenge, an' malice fause. 

He'll still disdain. 
An' then cry zeal for Gospel laws.. 

Like some we ken. 
They tak religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth. 
For what 1 to gie their malice skouth ' 

On some puir wight. 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' nUh, 

To ruin straight. 
All hail. Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can n'er defame thee. 
Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' monie a stain, 
Ari' far unworthy of thy train, 
Wi' trembling voice I tune my strain. 

To join wi' those. 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes ; 
In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs^ 
In spite o' undermining jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit. 
By scoundrels, ev'n wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 
O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground I 
Within thy jiresbytereal bound, 
A candid hb'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 

An' manly preachers. 
Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some, by whom your doctrine'l 
blam'd, 

(Which gies you honour,) 
Ev'n, Sir, by them your heart's e* 
teem'd. 

An' winning manner. 
Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd yt. 
But to his utmost would befriend 
Ought that belang'd t' ye. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., 
MAUCHLINE. 

RECOMMENDING A BOY. 

Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. 
[ HOI-I) it, Sir, my bounden duty, 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaur.,^ 
Was here to lure the lad away 
Bout whom ye spak the tither day. 

An' wad hae don 't afF han' : " 
But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him. 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks. 

An' tellin' lies about them ; 
As lieve then, I'd have then. 

Your clerkship he should sair. 
If sae be, ye may be 

Not fitted otherwhere. 
Altho' I say*!, he's gleg 3 enough. 
An' 'bout a house that's rude an' rough. 

The boy might learn to swear ; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught. 
An' get sic fair example straught, 

I hae na ony fear. 
Ve'll catechise him every quirk, 

An' shore ■* him weel wi' hell ; 
An' gar 5 him follow to the kirk — 

— Aye when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday, 
Then please. Sir, to lea'e. Sir, 

The orders wi' your lady. 
My word of honour I hae gi'en, 
In Paisley John's, that night at e'en. 

To meet the warld's worm : 
To try to get the twa to gree. 
An' name the airles ^ an' the fee. 

In legal mode an' form : 

' Master Tootie then lived in Mauch- 
&ie ; a dealer in cows. It was his 
common practice to cut the nicks or 
markings from ths horns of cattle, to 
disguise their age. He was an artful 
trick-contriving character ; hence he 
b called a snick-drawer. Bums styles 
the Devil, in his address to that per- 
(onage, ai» auld, snick-drawing dog." 
"-Cromek. 

"Offhaaa. 3 Sharp. 4 Threaten. 

S Make. ^ Earnest money. 



I ken he weel a snick can draw,' 

When simple bodies let him ; 
An' if a Devil be at a'. 

In faith he's sure to get liim. 

To phrase you, an' praise you. 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 

The pra^r still, your share stiB, 

Of grateful Minstrel— Burns. 



EPISTLE' 

TO MR. M'ADAM OF CRAIGEN. 

GILLAN, 

IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTEI 

HE SENT IN THE COMMENCEMENT ^ 

OF MY POETIC CAREER. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
" See wha taks notice o' the Bard ! " 

I lap and cry fu' loud. 
" Now deil-ma-care about their jaw. 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 

I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! " 

'Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yoursel. 
To grant your high protection : 

A great man's smile, ye ken fu' weel. 
Is aye a blest infection. 

Tho', by his" banes wha in a tub 
Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 

On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 
I independent stand aye. — 

And when thoselegstogude, warm kail, 
Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 

A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail. 
And barley scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow'ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonnie lasses baith, 

I'm tald they're loosome kimmers !? 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 
The blossom of our gentry ! 

And may he wear an auld man's beard' 
A credit to his country. 

' Contrive a trick. ' Diogeiic& 

3 Girls. 



TO CAfTAIN RIDDEL, 
GLENRIDDEL. 



Ellisland, Monday Evening. 
VoVR News and Review, Sir, I've read 
through and through, Sir, _ 
With little admiring or blaming : 
rhe papers are barren of home-news or 
foreign. 
No murders or rapes worth the nam- 
ing. 
Our friends the Reviewers, those 
chippers and hewers. 
Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir; 
But of meet, or unmeet, in a fabrick 
complete, 
I'll boldly pronounce they are none, 
Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is, to tell all 
your ffoodness 
Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 
Would to God I had one like a beam 
of the sim. 
And then all the world. Sir, should 
know it ! 



SO JOHN MAXWELL,' OF TER- 
RAUGHTY, ON HIS BIRTH- 
DAY. 

(written in 1791.) 

Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I tum'd Fate's sibyl leaf 

This natal mom ; 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief,^ 

Scarce quite half worn. 

This day thou metes threescore eleven. 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
{The second-sight, ye ken, is given 
To ilka Poet) 

' An able but eccentric man, who 
bad a great admiration for the poet's 
ktual qualities and conversational 
powers. ' Proof. 



On thee a tack o' seven times se/en 

Will yet bestow it. 
If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 
Thy lengthen'd days on this blest nior» 

May Desolation's lang-teeth'd han ow, 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure ! ' 
But for thy friends, and they are m onio 
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie. 
May couthie " fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee I 
Fareweel, avid birkie ! 3 Lord be near 

ye. 

And then the Deil he daur na steer* 

ye: 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye 
fear ye ; 

For me, shame fa' me ! 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca' me. 



THE VOWELS. 



'TwAS where the birch and sounding 

thong are piyd. 
The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 
Where ignorance her darkening vapour 

throws, 
And cruelty directs the thickening 

blows ; 
Upon a time. Sir Abece the great. 
In all his pedagogic powers elate. 
His awful chair of state resolves to 

mount. 
And call the trembling Vowels to ao 

coimt. 
First enter'd A, a grave, broad, so- 
lemn wight. 
But ah ! deform'd, dishonest to th» 

sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward ob 

his way. 



' Dust. 

3 A clever fellow. 



Loving. 
4 Molest. 



"4 

And flagrant from the scourge, he 
grunted, ai! 
Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous 
race 

The jostling tears ran down his honest 
face ! 

That name, that well-worn name, and 
all his own, 

Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's 
throne ! 

The pedant stifles k-^en the Roman 
sound 

Not all nis mongrel diphthongs can com- 
pound ; 

And, next, the title following close he- 
hind. 

He to the nameless, ghastly wretch 
assign'd. 
The cobweb'd gothic dome resound- 
ed, Y ! - 

In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply : 

The pedant swung Jis felon cudgel 
round. 

And knock'd the groaning vowel to the 
ground ! 
In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 

The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 

Th' Inquisitor of Spain, the most ex- 
pert. 

Might there have learnt new mysteries 
of his art : 

So grim, deform'd, with horrors enter- 
ing, U 

His dearest friend and brother scarcely 
knew ! 
As trembling U stood staring all 
aghast,. 

The pedant in his left hand clutch'd 
him fast, 

In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his 
right, 

Baptis'd him eu, and kick'd him from 
his sight. 



WORKS OP BURNS. 



PROLOGUE 

FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S 

BENEFIT-NIGHT, DUMFRIES, 

(Vhat needs this din about the town 

o' Lon'on, 
ffow this new play, an' that new sang, 

is comin' t 



Why is outlandish stuff sae nieikb 

courted 1 
Does nonsense mend like whiskj when 

imported ? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen foi 

fame, 
Will try to gie us sanga and plaj-s at 

hame? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants ol eveiy 

soil : 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome a&4 

Greece, 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian 

story. 
Would show the tragic muse in a' hef 

glory. 
Is there no daring Bard will rise and 

tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, hovf hap- 
less fell? 
Where are the Muses fled that could 

produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first un- 

sheath'd the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty 

lord ; 
And after monie a bloody, deathless 

doin', 
Wrench'd his dear country from the 

jaws of ruin ? 
O for a Shakespeare, or an Otway 

scene. 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish 

Queen ! 
Vain all the omnipotence of female 

charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebel- 
lion's arms. 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly 



To glut the vengeance of a rival wo- 
man: 

A woman, tho' the phrase may seem 
uncivil. 

As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 

One Douglas lives m Home's immortal 
page, 

But Douglases were heroes every age 

And tho' your father, prodigal of lift 

A Douglas folloVd to the maitu) 
strife. 



PerhaiK, if oowls row right, and right 

succeeds, 
Ve yet may follow where a Douglas 

leads ! 
As ye hae generoas done, if a' the 

land 
W'ovdd talc the Muses' servants by the 

hand; 
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend 

them, 
Ajod where ye justly can commend, 

comniend them ; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the 

test. 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done 

their best ! 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be 

caution 
Ye'll soon hae Poets, o' the Scottish 

nation, 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet 

crack. 
And warsle' time an' lay him on his 

back! 
For us and for our stage should onie 

spier, 
" Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this 

bustle here?" 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my 

brow. 
We hae the honom- to belong to you ! 
We're your ain baims, e,"en guide us as 

ye like, 
But, liice good mithers, shore before ye 

strike— 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find 

us. 
For a' the patronage and meikle kind- 
ness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and 

ranks: 
God help us ! we're but poor — ^ye'se get 
but thanks. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 



¥OR lords or Kings I dinna moirni. 
E'en let them die— for that they're bom: 



But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Towmont,' Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoj'raents thou hast reft ua 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint* a head, 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead 
The tulzie's 3 sair between Pitt an' Fox. 
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks, 
The tane is game, a bludie devil. 
But to the hen-birds imco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin', 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 4 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit S 
An' cry till ye be haerse^ an' roupet, 
For Eighty-eight he wisn'd you weel. 
And gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en monie a plack, and monie a peck. 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck. 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een,' 
For some o' you hae tmt a frien ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 
Observe the vera nowte » an' sheep. 
How dowf 9 and daviely they creep i 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry. 
For E'mbrugh wells are gnitten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn. 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff'd, mizzl'd, hap-shackl'^ 

Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man : 
As muckle better as you can. 

January i, 1789. 



DELIA.' 

AN ODE. 



Fair the face of orient day. 
Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; 



' Twelvemonth. ' Lost. 

3 Quarrel. ^ Dunghill. 

5 Pulpit. 6 Hoarse. 

7 Wipe your eyes. 8 Cattle. 

9 Languid. 
'° Said to have been written at tbt 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



But fairer still my Delia daK^ns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet tne lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 

But, Delia, more delightful still 
Steal thiiie accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 

Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove I 

O let me steal one liquid kiss ! 

For, oh ! my soul is parch'd with love ! 



A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping 
wight. 

And still his precious self his dear de- 
light; 



inn of Brownhill, in the parish of Close- 
bum, " a favourite resting-place of 
Bums." 

' The piece inscribed, " R. G., Esq.," 
is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Gra- 
ham, of Fintry, accompanying a re- 
quest for his assistance in a matter 
to me of very great moment. This 
poem is a species of composition new 
to me, but I do not intend it shall be 
jny last essay of the kind, as you will 
see by the "Poet's Progress." These 
fragments, if my design succeed, are 
but a small part of the intended whole. 
I propose it shall be the work of my 
atmost exertions, ripened by years. 
The fragment beginning, "A little, 
upright, pert, tart," &c., forms the 
postulate, the axioms, the definition of 
a character, which, if it appear at all, 
shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
This particular part I send you merely 
«s a sample of my hand at portrait- 
iketching. — To Professor D. Stewart, 
W. 20, 1789. 



Who loves his own smart shadow ta 
the streets 

Better than e'er the fairest she he meets ; 

A man of fashion too, he made his tour. 

Learn' d vive la bagatelle, et vive I'a- 
mour; 

So travell'd monkeys their grimace im- 
prove, 

Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' 
love. 

Much specious lore, but little under- 
stood ; 

Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 

His solid sense — by inches you must 
tell, _ 

But mete his cunning by the old Scots 
ell; 

His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 

Still making work Ins selfish craft must 
mend. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF 
KKRGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY 

or THAT author's works, PRK- 

SKNTED TO A YOUNQ LADY IN 

EDINBURGH, MARCH 19TH, I787. 

CuR.SE on ungrateful man, that can be 

pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the 

pleasure ! 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune. 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the Bard unpitied by the world. 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures! 



WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE 

POET WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE 

SCOTLAND.^ 

O'br the mist-shrouded cliifs of the loiM 



cessantly rave, 
' Originally published in the Dun 



What woes wring my heart while in- 
tently survejring 
The storm's gloomy path on the 
breast of the wave. 
JTe foam-crested billows, allow me to 
wail, 
Ere ye toss me afar from my loVd 
native shore ; 
Where the flower which bloom'd sweet- 
est in Coila's green vale. 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's 
no more. 
No more by the banks of the streamlet 
we'll wander, 
And smile at the moon's rimpled face 
in the wave ; 
No more shall mj arms cling Tiith 
fondness around her, 
For the dew-drops of morning fall 
cold on her grave. 
No more shall the soft thrill of love 
warm my breast, 
I haste with the storm to a far dis- 
tant shore ; 
Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes 
shall rest, 
And joy shall revisit my bosom no 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES 
HUNTER BLAIR.' 

Thk lamp of day, with ill-presaging 
glare. 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the west- 
em wave ; 
Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the 
dark'ning air. 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 
Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 
Occe the loVd haunts of Scotia's 
royal train ; ^ 



fries Joumal, July 5th, 1815, but doubt- 
fully ascribed to Bums. 

' Sir James Blair died July i, 1787 : 
he was a partner in Forbes' Bank, at 
Edinburgh. 

"The King's P\rk, at Holyrood 
dcAiss.— R. B. 



US. laj 

Or mus'd where limpid streams, once 
hallow-d, welV 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred 
fane.^ 
Th' increasmg blast roar'd round Ihe 
beetling rocks. 
The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the 
starry sky. 
The groaning trees untimely shed their 
locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the 
startled eye. 
The paly moon rose in the livid east, 
And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a 
stately form, 
In weeds of woe that frantic beat her 
breast, 
And mix'd her wailings with the 
raving storm. 
Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I 
view'd: 
Her form majestic droop'd in pensive 
woe. 
The lightning of her eye in tears im- 
bued. 
Revers'dthat spear, redoubtable in war, 
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields 
unfurl'd. 
That like a deathful meteor gleam'd 
afar. 
And braVd the mighty monarchs 0/ 
the world. — 
"My patriot son fills an untimely 
grave !" 
With accents wild and lifted arms 
she cried ; 
" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd 



honest pride. 
"A weeping coimtry joins a widow's 
tear. 
The helpless poor mix with the or- 
phan's cry ; 
The drooping Arts surround their pa- 
tron's bier. 
And grateful Science heaves th« 
heartfelt sigh. — 

' St. Anthonys Well.— R. B. 
' St. Vnthony's Ciapel.— R. B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



" I saw my sons resume their ancient 
fire; 
I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly 
blow ; 
JivK, ah ! how hope is born but to ex- 
pire ! 
Relentless (ate has laid their guardian 
low. — 

"My patriot falls, but shall he lie un- 
sung, 
While empty greatness saves a worth- 
less name? 
No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful 
tongue. 
And future ages hear his growing 
fame. 
'And I will join a mother's tender 
cares. 
Thro' future times to make his vir- 
tues last. 
That distant years may boast of other 
Blairs,"— 
She said, and vanish'd with the 
sweeping blast. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO 
HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.' 

Thou's welcome, wean ! mischanter'^ 

fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy. 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me. 
My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta, or daddy. 
Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I, fatherly, will kiss and daut 3 thee. 
As dear an' near my heart I set thee 
_ Wi' as gude will, 
"ests had seen me g 
That's out o' h— 11. 
What tho' they ca' me fornicator, 
in' tease my name in kintra clatter : 

' The mother was Elizabeth Paton, of 
Largieside, and her daughter died in 
1817, the wife of the tverseer at Polk- 



The mau- they talk Via kent the better, 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a fecklesi 
matter 

To gie ane fash. 
Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint. 
My funny toil is now a' tint. 
Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,' 

Which fools may scoff at 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 
An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee. 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An' think 't weel Wcir'd. 
Gude grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins, 
'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't 

Than stockit mailins.^ 



LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, 
KILMARNOCK, ON THE PUB- 
LICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

O GouDiE ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats and reVrend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin' 3 looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; 
Fy, bring Black- Jock, her state phyi* 
cian. 

To see her water ; 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspiciWB 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, 
But now she's got an unco ripple ;4 



■ Asguint. 
' Grinning. 



" Farms. 
* Death-DMUl 



EPISTLES, &>€. 



Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel. 

Nigh unto death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple,' 

An' gasps for breath. 
Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaen in a galloping consumption. 
Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gump- 
tion. 

Will ever mend her ; 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presump- 
tion, 

Death soon will end her. 
Tis you and Taylor ^ are the chief, 
VVha are to blame for this mischief ; 
But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toorn^ tar-barrel 
An' twa red peats wad send relief. 

An' end the quarrel. 



LETTER TO JAMES TAIT, 
GLENC0NNER.4 

AuLD comrade dear, and brither sinner. 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner ; 
How do you this blae eastlin win'. 
That's like to blaw a body blin' ? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen'. 
I've sent you here by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, _wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Reid, to common sense appealing, 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled. 
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled. 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 
An' in the depth of Science mir'd. 
To common sense they now appeal. 
What wives an' wabstersS see an' feel. 
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you 

strictly, 
Peruse them, an' return them quickly. 
For now I'm grown sae cursed dous^, 
I pray an' ponder but the house, 

* Throat. = Dr.Taylor, of Norwich. 

3 Empty. 

4 According to Bums, " the most 
Wtelligent farmer in the country." 

5 Weavers. 



My shins, my laae," I there sit roastin', 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston ; 
Till by an' by, if I baud on, 
I'll grunt a real Gospel-groan : 
Already I begin to try it. 
To cast my een up like a pyet,* 
When by the guri she tumbles o'e»,. 
Flutt'ring an' gaspin' in her gore : 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld 

Glen, 
The ace an' wale ^ of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld grey 

hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares. 
May he who made him still support him. 
An' views beyond the grave comfort 

him. 
His worthy fam'ly far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear I 

My auld school-fellow. Preacher 
WiUie, 
The manly tar,* my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither. 
Just five-and-forty years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' Lord remember singing Saimock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a ban- 
nock. 
An' next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle S siller. _ 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cau- 
tious. 
For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' thea 

fashions : 
To grant a heart is fairly civil, — 
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel. 
May guardian angels tak a. spell 

' Myself alone. 

" Magpie. 3 Choice. 

4 The "manly tar" was proliaUj 
Richard Brown.— Cunningham. 

5 Small quantity. 



WORKS OP BURNS. 



An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
But first, before ye see heaVn's glory, 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink. 
An' aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ve'U fin' him just an honest man ; 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 
VturSj saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS' TO 
MARIA. 

From those drear solitudes and frowzy 
cells, 

Miere infamy with sad repentance 
dwells ; 

SHiere turnkeys make the jealous por- 
tal fast. 

And deal from iron hands the spare re- 
past ; 

Where truant 'prentices, yet young in 
sin. 

Blush at the curious stranger peeping 
in ; 

Wtere strumpets, relics of the drunken 
roar. 

Resolve to drink, nay half to w — e, no 
more ; 

Where tiny thieves, not destin'd yet to 
swing. 

Beat hemp for others, riper for the 
string: 

From these dire scenes my wretched 
lines I date. 

To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

'' Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Wil) turn thy very rouge to deadly 
pale; 



* The Esopus of this strange epistle 
was Williamsan the actor, and the 
Maria to whom it is addressed was 
Mrs Riddel.— Ai LAN Cunningham. 



Will make thy hair, tho' erst from 

gipsy poU'd, 
By barber woven, and by hirber sold, 
Though twisted smooth with Harry'i 

nicest care. 
Like hoary bristles to jrect and stare. 
The hero of the mim'c scene, no mora 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 
Or haughty Chieftain, 'mid the dm <A 

arms, 
In Highland bonnet woo Malvina'* 

charms : 
While sans culottes stoop up the moun* 

tain high. 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
Bless'd Highland bonnet ! Once my 

proudest dress, 
Now prouder still, Maria's temples 

press. 
I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, 
And call each coxcomb to the wordy 

war. 
I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 
And even out-Irish his Hibernian 

bronze ; 
The crafty colonel leaves the tartan'd 

lines. 
For other wars, where he a hero 

shines : 
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate 

bred. 
Who owns a Bushby's heart withoi"^ 

the head. 
Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to 

display 
That vent, vidi, vici, is his way ; 
The shrinking bard adown an alley 

skulks. 
And dreads a meeting worse than 

Woolwich hulks ; 
Though there his heresies in church 

and state 
Might well award him Muir and Pal- 
mer's fate : 
Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, 
And dares the public like a noontide sun. 
(What scandal called Maria's janty 

stagger 
The ricket reeling of a crooked swaggetf 
Whose spleen, e'en worse tlian Bums'l 

venom — ^when 
He dips in gall unmix'd his e.i£ er pem 
And poiu^ ms vengeance in the I)uinin4 

line, — 



EPISTLES, &'c. 



MTbo chr'uten'd thus Maria's lyre di- 
vine; 
The idiot strum of vanity bemused, 
And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 
WTio call'd her verse, a parish workhouse 

made 
For motley, foundling fancies, stolen 

or strayd ?) 
A. workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes 

my woes. 
And pillows on the thorn my racVd 

repose ! 
In durance vile here must I wake aid 

weep. 
And all my frowzy couch in sorrow 

steep ; 
That straw where many a rogue has 

lain of yore, 
And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on 
vagrants pour. 

Must earth no rascal, save thyself, en- 
dure? 

Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, 

And make a vast monopoly of hell ? 

Thou knoVst the virtues cannot hate 
thee worse ; 

The vices also, must they club their 
curse ? 

Or must no tiny sin to others fall. 

Because thy guilt's supreme enough for 
all? 

Mana, send me too thy griefs and 

cares; 
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 
As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls. 
Who on my fair-one satire's vengeance 

hurls? 
Who calls thee pert, affected, vain 

coquette, 
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit ? 
Who says that fool alone is not thy due. 
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it 

true? 
Our force united on thy foes we'll tiun. 
And dare the war with all of woman 

bom : 
For who can write and speak as thou 

and I? 
My periods that decyphering defy, 
fid tk/ still matchless tongue that 

conquers all repbr. 



ON A SUICIDE.' 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, 

Planted by Satan's dibble- 
Poor silly wretch, he's d — d himsel' 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



A FAREWELL." 

Farewell, dear Friend ! may giiid 

luck hit you. 
And, 'mang her favourites admit you ! 
If e'er Detraction shore to smit jfou. 

May nane believe him ! 
And ony Deil that thinks to get you. 

Good Lord, deceive him 



THE FAREWELL. 

Farewell old Scotia's bleak domains 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

AVhere rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess ! tho' thou'rt beref) 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left. 

My part in him thou'lt share 1 



* A melancholy person of the nam« 
of Glendinning, having taken away 
his own life, was interred at a place 
called "The Old Chapel," close beside 
Dumfries. My friend Dr. Copland 
Hutchinson happened tobe walking out 
that way : he saw Burns with his foot 
on the ^rave, his hat on his knee, and 
paper laid on his hat, on which he was 
writing. He then took the paper, 
thrast it with his finger into the red 
mould of the grave, and went away. 
This was the pbove epigram, and suclj 
was the Poet's mode of publishing 'lU 
—A. Cunningham. 

* The friend was Mr. John Kennedy. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Adieu too, to you too, 

My Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
When kindly you mind me, 
O then befriend my Jean ! 

WTien bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
From thee, my Jeannie, must I part ! 
Thou weeping answ'rest, " No ! " 
AJas ! misfortune stares my face. 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake, must go ! 
Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu ! 
{, with a much-indebted tear. 
Shall still remember you ! 
All -hail then, the gale then. 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore ! 
It rustles, and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more ! 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRA- 
HAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY; ON 
THE CLOSE OF THE DIS- 
PUTED ELECTION BETWEEN 
SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND 
CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR TH« 
DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF 
BOROUGHS. 

«?INTFY, my stay in worldly strife, 
""riend o' my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye asidle's I ara?_ 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,' 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg. 

And ye shall see me try him. 

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears 
Who left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlings ; 
And, bent on winning borough towns, 
Game shaking hands wi' wabster lowns. 

And kissing barefit carlins.'' 

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode 

Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad unmuzzled lions ; 



As Queensberry bufFand blue ubAirP^^ 
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd 
To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberrjrleft the war 
Th' immanner'd dust might soil hii 
star ; 

Besides, he hated bleeding ; 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Cassarean fight. 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

O ! for a throat like huge Mons-mej, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner ; 
Heroes and heroines commix. 
All in the field of politics. 

To win inmiortal honour. 

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, 

(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the loves and graces : 
She won each gaping burgess' heart. 
While, he, all-conquering, pla/d hif 
part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

Crxigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps. 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. 

Like Hecla streaming thunder : 
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins. 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs. 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two cha«ipions fought. 
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory : 
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his 

ground,_ 
High- waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopeian fury. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks. 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold, 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd. 
With these what Tory warriors clos'd 

Surpasses my descriving : 
Squadrons, extended long and large. 
With furious speed rush to the chaigai 

Like raging devils driving. 



EPISTLES, &'c. 



(39 



Wliat verse car sing, what prose nar- 
rate, 
rhe butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
Grim Horror gim'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
As Murther at his thrapple ^ shor'd. 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie.^ 
As highland crags by thunder cleft. 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift. 

Hurl down with crashing rattle : 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers : 
The Whigs come on Uke Ocean's roar. 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers.3 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep 

night. 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight. 

And think on former darmg : 
The muffled mvirtherer of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls. 

All deadly gules its bearing. 
Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame. 
Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Gra- 
ham, 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Mont- 
rose ! 
Now death and hell engulf thy foes. 

Thou Uv'st on high for ever 1) 
Still o'er the field the combat bums. 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken. 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can 1 

The Tory ranks are broken. 
that my een were floiving burns 1 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry. 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 

And furious Whigs pursuing 1 



' Throat. ' The broil. 

' A rockjr opening on the coast of 
Aberdeenshire. 



What Whig bat melts for good S» 

James ? 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor ! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pultenef 

save ! 
And Hopeton falls, the generous bra f« ( 
And Stewart, bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow j 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ; 

And Melville melt in wailing ! 
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall smg, O Prince, aiii*, 

Thy power is all-prevailing ! 
For yoxu- poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely ! 
So, when the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends. 

And sober chirps securely. 

Now for my friends' and brethren's 

sakes, 
And for my dear-loved Land o' Cakes, 

I pray with holy fire : 
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' hell. 
O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell. 

To grind them in the mire ! 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 

[Major Logan was a skilful player 
of the violin, and a man after Buns' 
own heart. He was a retired military 
officer, and well known to the celebrat- 
ed Neil Gow. He resided at Park 
House, near Ayr, and lived with his 
sister and mother. This sister was the 
Miss Logan to whom the poet addressed 
some verses, with a present of Beattie's 
Poems (see p. 69). The Major was a 
jovial friend and a great favourif 
of the poet's, and, besides being a f\rst- 
rate violinist, was a capital companion. 
He abounded in anecdote and ./umi r- 
ous_ sallies of good-humoured wit. 
This Epistle shows the high esw in 
in which he was held, and e&xt&oua't 

byr - 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Hail, thairm'-inspirin', rattlin' Wil- 
lie ! 
Though Fortune's road be rough an' 

hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie. 

We never heed. 
But talc it Uke the unback'd filly. 
Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan'' whyles we saun- 
ter, 
Yin 3 fancy barks, awa' we canter 
Uphill, down brae, till some mis- 
chanter,* 

Some black bog-hole. 
Arrests us, then the scathe S an' ban- 
ter 

We're forced to thole.6 



Hale be your heart ! Hale be your 

fiddle I 
Lang may your elbuck jink and did- 
dle. 
To cheer you through the weary wid- 
dle 

O' this wild warl'. 
Until you on a crummock driddle^ 
A grey-hair'd carl. 



Come wealth, come poortith, late or 

soon. 
Heaven send your heart-strings aye in 

tune. 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair. 
The melancholious, lazy croon 
O' cankrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 
Nae " lente largo " in the play. 
But "allegretto forte" gay 

Harmonious flow : 



^ Fiddle-string. 

' Walking without an object. 

3 Lively. 

■* Accident. 

5 Injury. 

6 To bear. 

1 Hobble on a stick. 



A sweeping, kindling, bauld stratk 
spey— 

Encore! Bravo! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang. 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule. 
But as the clegs ^ o' feeling stang' 

Are wise or fool. 
My hand-waled curse keep hard ir 

chase 
The harpy, hoodock,3purse-proud race^ 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fire-side discords jar a base 

To a' their parts ! 
But come, your hand, my careless bli- 
ther, 
I' th' ither warl' — if there's anither. 
An' that there is I've little swither* 

About the mattei, — 
We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted 

clearly. 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 
Eve's bonny squad priests wyte S them 
sheerly 

For our grand fa' : 
But still, but still, I like them dearly— 

God bless them a' ! 
Ochon for poor CastaUan drinkers. 
When they fa' foul o' earthly j inkers. 
The witching curs'd delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hyte,^ 
And gart me weet my waukrife wink 
ers,7 

Wi' gimin spite. 
But by yon moon ! — and that's higk 

swearin' — 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
An' by her een wha was a dear ane 1 

I'll ne'er forget ; _ 
I hope to gie the jads^ a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 



' Gadflies. ' Sting. 

3 Miserly. * Doubt. 

S Blame. « Frantic. 

1 Wet my sleepless eyes. 8 ja 



EPISTLES. EPITAPHS, b'c 



«S! 



My loss i nioiiTn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint ' it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted. 

Some cantraip^ hour. 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, 

Then, vive I 'amour'. 

Faites ntes baissemains respectueutes. 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose ye. 

Ye may be proud, 
Ibat sic a couple fate alleys ye 

To grace yoxir blood. 

N*» mair at present can I measure, 
Aa' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae 

treasure ; 
But when in Ayr, some half-hour's 
leisure, 

Be't light, be't dark. 
Sir Bard will do himsel' the pleasure 
To call at Park. 

Robert Burns. 
Mossgiel, yxtk October, 1786. 



EPITAPH ON THE POET'S 
DAUGHTER.^ 



Here lies a rose, a budding rose. 
Blasted before its bloom ; 



^ Lost. _ * Charmed. 

3 These lines are said to have been 
written by Burns on the loss of his 
daughter, who died in the autumn of 
1795, and of whom he thus speaks in 
his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, from Dum- 
fries, January 31, 1796 : "These many 
months you have been two packets in 
my debt — what sin of ignorance I have 
committed against so highly valued a 
friend I am utterly at a loss to guess. 
Alas ! madam, ill can I afford, at this 
time, to be deprived of any of the small 
remnant of my pleasures. I have lately 
drunk deep of the cup of affliction. 
The autumn robbed me of my only 
daughter and darling child, and that at 
A distance too, and so rapidly, as to put 
it out of my power to pay the last 
dities to her. 1 had scarcely begun 



Whose innocence did sweets disclose 
Beyond that flower's perfume. 

To those who for her loss are grieved. 
This consolation's given — 

She's from a world of woe relieved. 
And blooms a rose in Heaven. 



EPITAPH ON GABRIEL 
RICHARDSON.^ 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct. 
And empty all his barrels : 

He's blest — if, as he breVd, he drink 
In upright honest morals. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER," 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 
A land imknown to prose or rhyme ; 
Where words ne'er crost the Muse's 

heckles,3 
Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 
A land that prose did never view it. 
Except when drunk he stachert through 



to recover from that shock when I be- 
came mjrself the victim of a most severe 
rheumatic fever, and long the die spun 
doubtful ; until, after many weeks of 
sick bed, it seems to have turned up 
life, and I am beginning to crawl across 
my room, and once indeed have been 
before my own door in the street. 

" When pleasiure fascinates the mental 

Affliction purifies the visual ray. 
Religion hails the drear, the untried 
night. 
That shuts, for ever shuts, life's 
doubtful day." 

' A. brewer in Dumfries. 

* A merchant of Kilmarnock, and a 
generous patron of Burns at the begis' 
LAjig of his poetical career. 

3 Instrument for dressing flax. 



"30 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Here, ambush'd by the chimla* cheek. 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
Enhusked by a fog infernal : 
Here, for my wonted rhjoning raptures, 
I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 
For life and spunk, like ither Christians, 
I'm dwindled down to mere existence, 
Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 
Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes. 
Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 
Dowie* she saunters down Nithside, 
And aye a westlin leuk she throws. 
While tears hap o'er her auld brown 

nose 1 
Was it for this, wi' canny care. 
Thou bure the Bard through many a 

shire? 
At howes or hillocks never stumbled. 
And late or early never grumbled ? 
Oh, had I power like inclination, 
I'd heeze3 thee up a constellation. 
To canter with the Sagitarre, 
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar. 
Or turn the pole like any arrow : 
Or|.when auld Phoebus bids good-mor- 
row, 
Down the zodiac urge the race, 
And cast dirt on his godship's face : 
For I could lay my bread and kail. 
He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief. 
And sma', sma' prospect of relief. 
And nought but peat reek i' my head. 
How can I write what ye can read t — 
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
Ye'll find me in a better time ; 
But till we meet and weet our whistle, 
Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

Robert Burns. 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB TO 
THE PRESIDENT* OF THE 
HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

\ .ONG life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland 



Rre-place. " Weary. 3 Raise. 
* The Earl of Breadalbane. 



Lord grant na» Ji»ddi«' de»perat» 

beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore„ or rusty ♦rigger, 
May twin ^ auld Sco^laik,^ o a '^ 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith you and A s wer« right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight 
I doubt na' ! they wad bid nae better 
Than let them ance out owre the water! 
Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak what rules and laws they 

please ; 
Some daring Hancock, or a FrankUn, 
May set their Highland bluid a rankUn'; 
Some Washington again may head 

them, 
Or some Montgomery fearless lead 

them. 
Till God knows what may be effected 
When by such heads and hearts di 

rected— 
Poor dunghill sons of ^'"rt and mire 
May to Patrician rights ajuire ' 
Nae sage North, now, uor sager Sack- 

ville, 
To watch and premier o'er th« pack 

vile ; 
An' whare will ye get Howes anrf 

Clintons 
To bring them to a right repentance. 
To cowe the rebel generation. 
An' save the honour o' the nation ? 

They an' be ! what right hae the^ 

To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 
Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom. 
But what your Lordship likes to gio 

them? 

But hear, my Lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I 

fear; 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and 

bailies, 
I canna' say but they do gaylies ;3 
They lay aside a' tender mercies. 
An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 
Yet while they're only poind't »ra 

herriet,* 
They'll keep their stubborn Highland 

spirit; 

' Ragged. " Deprive. 3 Pretty well 
'^ Seized and plunderad. 



EPISTLES. EPITAPHS, ^e. 



»3J 



But smosti them! crash them a' to 

spails !' 
Aa' rot the dyvors^ i' the jails ! 
rjjc young dogs, swinge 3 them to the 

labour; 
Let wark and hunger male them sober ! 
The hizzies, if they're aughtlins faw- 

sont/ 
Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd I 
An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
E'en thiggerS at your doors an' yetts^ 
FlaiTan wi' duds ^ an' grey wi' beas', 
Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese. 
Get out a horsewhip, or a jowler, 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler. 
An' gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastarts on their back ! 
Go on, my Lord I I lang to meet you. 
An' in my house at hame to greet you; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle. 
The benmost neuk beside the ingle. 
At my right ban' assigjn'd your seat 
'Tween Herod's hip and Polycrate,— 
Or if you on your station tarrow,8 
Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
A seat, I'm sure ye're weel deservin 't ; 
An' till ye come-^Your humble servant, 
Beelzebub. 
Jtfne I, Anno Mundi, 5790. 



TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY. 

Now, Kennedjr, if foot or horse 
E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse, 
LorcL man, there's lasses there wad 
force 

A hermit's fancy, 
A»d down the gate, in faith, they're 
worse. 

An' mair unchancy. 

But, as I'm sayin', please step to DoVs, 
jVnd taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
fill some bit callan bring me news 

That you are there. 
And if we dinna baud a bouze, 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 

• Chips, " Bankrupts. 

» Whip. 4 Decent. S Crowd. 

• Farm-yard ^tes. 

Flutterin£ with rags. 8 Murmur. 



It's no I Uke to sit an' swallow. 
Then like a swine to puke an' wallottrj 
But gie me just a true good fallow 

Wi' right mgine,' 
And spunkie ance to make uw mellow. 

And then we'll shine. 
Now, if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak. 
An' sklent on poverty their joke, 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wj' you no friendship will I troke. 

Nor cheap nor dear. 
But if, as I'm informed weel. 
Ye hate, as ill's the vera Deil, 
The flinty heart that canna feel- 
Come, Sir, here's tae you ; 
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss' you 
weel. 

And guid be wi' you. 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT 
DUNDAS, ESQ., OF ARNIS- 
TON, LATE LORD PRESI- 
DENT OF THE COURT OF 
SESSION. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 
flocks 

Shim the fierce storms among the shel- 
tering rocks : 

Down from the rivulets, red with dash- 
ing rains. 

The gathering floods burst o'er the 
distant plains ; 

Beneath the blasts the leafless forests 
groan; 

The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye 
caves, 

Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling 
waves ! 

Unheard, unseen, by human ear or 
eye. 

Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 

Where to the whistling blast and 
waters' roar. 

Pale Scotia's recent wound I may de 
plore. 



Genius, or disposition. 



■ Wkk 



h>«ivy loss, thy country ill could 
bear! 

A. loss these evil days can ne'er re- 
pair! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her 
God, 

Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd 
her rod ; 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow 

She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest 
woe. 

IVtongs, injuries from many a dark- 
some den. 

Now gay in hope explore the paths of 
men: 

See from his cavern grim Oppression 
rise. 

And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 

Keen on the helpless victim see him 

fly. 

And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting 
cry: 

Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with 

crimes. 
Rousing elate in these degenerate 

times ; 
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
As guileful Fraud points out the errmg 

way: 
While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 
The life-blood equal sucks of Right and 

Wrong : 
Hark, injured Want recounts th' im- 

hsten'd tale. 
And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' 

unpitied wail ! 

Ve dark waste hills, and brown un- 
sightly plains. 

To you I sing my grief-inspired '. 

Ve tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, 
roll! 

\fe suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 

Life's social haunts and pleasures I 
resign, 

Be nameless wilds and lonely wander- 
ings mine, 

To mourn the woes my country must 
endure, 

rbat wound degenerate ages cannot 
cure. 



. WORKS OF BURNS. 

TO JOHN M'MURDO. ESQ. 



O, COULD I give thee India's wealth 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never hi3if-> 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



ON THE DEATH OF 
A LAP-DOG, NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of song 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things aroimd. 
Scream your discordant joys ; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM." 

A SATIRE. 

Orthodox, orthodox, 
Wha believe in John Knox, 

' Steward to the Duke of Queensberry. 

^ It is impossible to look back now 
to the civil war which then raged 
among the churchmen of the west ol 
Scotland, without confessing that on 
either side there was much to regret, 
and not a little to blame ; and no one 
can doubt that, in the, at best, unset- 
tled state of Robert Bums' principles, 
the unhappy effect must have been 
powerful indeed, as to him. M'Gill and 
Dalrymple, the' two ministers of the 
town of Ayr, had long been suspected of 
entertaining heterodox opinions. The 
gentry of the country took, for the 
most part,. the side of M'Gill ; the bulk 
of the lower orders espoused th# 
cause of those who conducted the pro 
secution against this erring Docto* 



l*t me sound an alarm to your con- 
science — 
There's a heretic blast. 
Has been blawn i' the wast, 
rb-*t what is not sense must be non- 
sense. 

Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac, 

Ye should stretch on a rack. 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense. 

Upon «ny pretence. 
Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was mad, I declare. 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the Church's relief. 
And orator Bob^ is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 

Tho' yoiu' heart's like a child, 
And your life like the new-driven snaw, 

Yet that winna save ye. 

Old Satan must have ye. 
For preaching that three's ane an' twa. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 

Seize your spiritual guns, 
Anmunition ye never can need ; 

Your hearts are the stuiF, 

Will be powder enough. 
And your skulls are storehouses of lead. 

Rumble John, Rumble John,' 
Mount the steps wi' a groan, 

Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of 
nis stamp, were, of course, on the side 
of M'Gill; Auld, and the Mauchline 
Elders, with his enemies. Mr. Robert 
Aiken, a writer in Ajn-, had the prin- 
cipal management of M 'Gill's cause. 
He was an intimate friend of Hamilton, 
and_ through him had formed an ac- 
quaintance which now ripened into a 
warm friendship with Burns. M'Gill, 
Dalrymple, and their brethren, were 
the New-Light Pastors of his earliest 
" Satires." — Lockharis Life of Burns, 
p. 5o. 

^ Robert Aiken, agent, or, as we 
ibs^Hld say, attomejr for Dr M'Gill. 

' Joan Russell, with the lOud voice. 



Cry, the book 5s with heresy rramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, 
Deal brimstone like adle,"^ 

And roar every note o' the danm'd. 
Simper James, Simper J;imes,' 
Leave the fair Killie diimes. 

There's a holier chase in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, 
That the pack ye'U soon lead. 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie,' 

Are ye herding the penny, 
Unconscious what danger awaits ? 

With a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm every soul. 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk,< 

Ye may slander the book, 
And the book nought the waur — ^let dm 
tell you ; 

Tho' ye're rich and look big, 

Yet lay by hat and wig. 
And ye'U hae a calf s-head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steenie, Barr Steeme,S 

What mean ye ? what mean ye? 
If ye'U meddle nae mair wi' the matter. 

Ye may hae some pretence 

To havins and sense 
Wi'. people wha ken ye nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,6 
Ye hae made but toom roose. 

In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; 
But the Doctor's your mark,— 
For the Lord's haly ark, 

He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pia 
in't. 
Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,? 
For a saunt if ye muster. 

It's a sign they're no nice o' recruit*. 
Yet to worth let's be just. 
Royal blood ye might boast. 

If the ass was the king o' the bnitca. 

Muirland Jock, Muirland Jock,* 
When the L- — makes a rock. 



' Stagnant water. ' James M'Kinla 
3 Alexander Moodie. ■♦ Dr. MitchtIL 

5 Stephen Young, Barr. 

6 Mr. Young. ^ Mr. Grant. 
8 Mr. John Sheppard. 



iVORKS OF BURNS. 



lo CiUsK Ccmmou Sense for her sins ; 

If ill manners were wit, 

There's no mortal so fit, 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Cessnockside, Cessnockside,' 
Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

0' manhood but sraa' is your share ; 
Ye've the figure, it's true, 
Ev'n our faes maun allow, 

And your friends dauma say ye hae 
mair. 

Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,' 

There's a tod 3 i' the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; * 

Tho' ye downa do skaith, 

Ye'U be in at the death. 
And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

Poet Bums, Poet Bums, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns. 
Why desert ye your auld native shire f 

Tho' your Muse is a gipsy. 

Yet were she eVn tipsy. 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are.5 



DAINTIE DAVIE. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreading 

bowers; 
(knd now come in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 



» Mr. G. Smith. » Of Mauchline. 

3 Fox. 4 Gavin Hamilton. 

S The chosen champions of the A uld 
Light, in Ayrshire, presented, in many 
particulars of personal conduct and 
demeanour, as broad a mark as ever 
tempted the shafts of a satirist. That 
Bums has grossly overcharged the por- 
tiaits of them, deepening the shadows 
that were sufficiently dark, and exclud- 
ing altogether those brighter, and per- 
haps softer, traits of character which 
redeemed the originals within the sym- 

athies of many of the worthiest and 
of men, seems equally clear. — 
Leckhart, p. 62. 



Ks^ 



Meet me on the warlock-knowe,* 
Daintie Davie, daintie Davie, 
There I'll spend the day wi' you^ 
My ain dear daintie Davie. 
The crystal waters roimd us fa'. 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 
When purple morning starts the haiOt 
To steal upon her early fare. 
Then through the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 
When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 



THE SELKIRK GRACE." 

Some hae meat, and canna eat. 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we hae meat and we can eat. 
And sae the Lord be thankit. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF 
PEG NICHOLSON. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay maiw 

As. ever trode on aim ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith 

An' past the mouth o' Caim. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 
An' rode thro' thick an' thin ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
An' wanting ev'n the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 
An' ance she bare a priest ; 

* A knoll where wizards have held 
tryste. 

* Said by Bums, at the request a' 
the Earl of Selkirk. 



EPIi'RAMS. b'c. 



But now she's floating down the Nifi, 

For Solway fish a feast. 
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay m7 »e, 

An' the priest he rode her sair ; 
An' meikle oppress'd an' bruisef' she 
was. 

As priest-rid cattle are. 



SEEING MISS rONTEr«SLLE 
IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER. 

Sweet nafvet4 of feature. 

Simple, wild, enchanting »V, 
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 

Thou art acting but thyse?f. 
Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 

Spuming nature, torturing art ; 
Loves and graces all rejecf'^d. 

Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. 



THE 
LEAGUE AND COVENANT.* 

The Solemn League and Covenant 
Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland 
tears: 
But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy 
sneers. 



ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

Talk not to me of savages. 

From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart. 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 
But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight. 
Not eVn to view the Heavenly choir, 

Would be £0 blest a sight. 

* In reply to a gtntleman who un- 
tervalued the sufferings of Scotland 
'forcoasdence' sake." 



EPITAPH 
ON MISS JESSY LEWARS.' 

Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth 
Can turn Death's dart aside t 

It is not pin-ity and worth. 
Else Jessy had not died. 



THE RECOVERY OF JESSY 
LEWARS. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birthi 

The natives of the sky. 
Yet still one Seraph's left on earth. 

For Jessy did not die. 



THE TOAST. 

Fill me with the rosy wine. 
Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame. 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast. 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 



THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON. 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few ; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het" ere I come back. 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in thecup— sae beware I 
Nay, more — there is danger in touch- 
ing; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 
The man and his wine sae bewitch, 
ing! 



* Playfully written, when she was 

disposed. 

2 Hot. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



ro MISS C— WRITTEN ON A 
BLANK LEAF OF ONE OF 
MISS HANNAH MORE'S 
WORKS. 

Thou flattering mark of friendship 

kind. 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor : 
Though sweetly female every part. 
Yet such a head, and more the heart, 

Does both the sexes honour. 
She show'd her taste refined and just 

When she selected thee. 

Vet deviating, own I must. 

For so approving me. 

But kind still, I'll mind still 

The giver in the gift ; 
I'll bless her and wiss her 
A Friend above the Lift.' 



THE BOOK-WORMS.^ 

Through and through the inspired 
leaves. 

Ye maggots, make your windings ; 
But, oh ! respect his Lordship's taste, 

Aad spare his golden bindings. 



WILLIE CHALMERS.: 



And eke a braw new brechan,' 
My Pegasus I'm got astride. 
And up Parnassus pechin ; S 



•Sky. 

° Suggested by a splendidly bound, 
iMit worm-eaten copy of Shakspeare. 

3 Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayr- 
shire, a particular friend of mine, asked 
me to write a poetic epistle to a young 
lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, 
but was scarcely acquainted w<th her, 
Ind wrote as follows. — R. B. 

* With new bridle and collan 

S JPSujting. 



Whiles owre a bush wi' downwsrt 
crush, 

Tht doited beastie stammers ; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets, 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame. 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet. 

His honest heart enamours, 
And, faith, ye'U no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye'T* 
fair. 

And Honour safely back her. 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire ev'n holy Palmers ; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt nae fortune may you shore 

Some mim-mou'd' pouthered priestie) 
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 

And band upon his breastie : 
But, oh ! what signifies to you. 

His lexicons and grammars ; 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin' glowrin' countra Lvd 

May warsle for your favour ; 
May claw his lug, and straik his beard. 

Ajid hoast up some palaver ; 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers. 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skel| 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard. 

For ane that shares my bosom, 
Inspires my Muse to gie 'm his dues. 

For dsil a hair I roose* him. 
May potvers aboon unite you soon. 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers, 



Gentle-mouthed, 



Pl-aiM 



EPIGRAMS, &''c. 



OS ROBERT RIDDEL. 

Fo Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 

The ivied cot revere. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR.' 

With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo, weary flying, — 
Through frosty hills the journey lay. 

On foot the way was plying. 
Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker ; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes. 

To get a frosty calker. 
Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 

Threw by his coat and bonnet, 
And did Sol's business in a crack ; 

Sol paid him with a sonnet. 
Ve Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I'll pay you like my master. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK- 
NOTE. 

The following verses, in the hand- 
writing of Bums, were copied from a 
bank-note, in the possession of Mr. 
James F. Gracie, of Dumfries. The 
note is of the Bank of Scotland, and is 
dated on the ist of March, 1780. 

Wab worth thy power, thou cursed 

leaf! 
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief ! 
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 

* Bums, during one of his excise 
«ameys, on a winter day, found it ne- 
V:ssary to get his horse's shoes "rough- 
ed." The blacksmith was very busy ; 
wid the Poet sought Mr. Taylor's m- 
■ hx obtaining his aid. 



I see the children of affliction 
Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction. 
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile. 
Amid his hapless victim's spoil, 
And for thy potence vainly wish'd. 
To crush the villain in the dust. 

For lack o' thee I leave this much-loVd 
shore. 

Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland 



BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Yb true 'Loyal Natives," attend to 

my song. 
In uproar and riot rejoice the night 

long ; 
From envy and hatred your corps w 

exempt : 
But where is your shield from the darts 

of contempt ? 



REMORSE.' 



Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 

peace. 
That press the soul, or wring the mind 

with anguish. 
Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
That to our folly, or our guilt, we owe. 

* The political fever ran high Ln 1794, 
and a member of a club at Dumfries, 
called the Loyal Natives, in a violent 
paroxysm, produced some verses to 
which Bums gave the extempore reply. 

" I entirely agree with that judicious 
philosopher, Mr. Smith, in his excellent 
"Theory of Moral Sentiments," that 
remorse is the most painful sentiment 
that can embitter the human bosom. 
Any ordinary pitch of fortitude nu> 
bear up tolerably well under those ca- 
lamities in the procurement of which 
we ourselves have had no hand ; but 
when our own follies or crimes have 
made us iniserable and wretched, to 
bear up with manly firmness, and at 
the same time have a proper penitential 
sense of our misconduct, is a glorioui 
effort of self-command. — R . B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — " It was no deed ol 
mine ; " 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

iTiis sting is added — "Blame thy 
fooUsh self!" 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen Re- 
morse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consdousness 
_ of guilt — 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved 
others ; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly 
loVd us ; 

V%y, more, that very love their cause 
of ruin! 
I burning hell ! in all thy store of 
torments, 

Hiere's not a keener lash ! 

xives there a man so firm, who, while 
his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime. 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And, after proper purpose of amend- 
ment. 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to 
peace f 

O, happy 1 happy !_ enviable man ! 

O glorious magnanimity of soul 1 



Mossgiel, , 1786. 

ilR, 
Yours this moment I unseal. 

And faith I'm gay and hearty I 
To tell the truth an' shame the Deil, 

I am as fu' as Bartie :^ 
But foorsday. Sir, my promise leal 

Expect me o' your party. 
If on a beastie I can speel,^ 

Or hurl in a cartie. R. B. 



IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE. 

Jn vain would Prudence, with decorous 

sneer, 
?oint out a cens'ring world, and bid 

me fear; 



' A proverb for a drinker. 



Climb. 



Above that world on wings of love I rinej 
I know its worst — and do that vrorst 

despise. 
" Wrong" d, injur'd, shunn'd, unpitied^ 

unredrest, — 
The mock'd quotation of the scomei's 

jest," 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me 

Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them 
all ! 



THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE.'. 

Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me. 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but 

_m : 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth be- 
reaVd me, 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me 
still.— 
I'll actwith prudence as far's I'm able, 

But if success I must never find. 
Then come. Misfortune, I bid thee wel- 
come, 
I'll meet thee with an undaunted 
mind. 



* The above was an extempore, under 
the pressure of a heavy train of 
misfortimes, which, indeed, threatened 
to undo me altogether. It was just 
at the close of that dreadful period 
before mentioned {March, 1784) ; and 
though the weather has brightened up 
a little with me since, yet there has 
always been a tempest brewing round 
me in the grim sky of futurity, which 
I pretty plainly see will some time or 
other, perhaps ere long, overwhelm 
me, and drive me into some doleful dell, 
to pine in solitary, squalid wretch- 
edness. However, as I hope my 
poor country Muse, who, all rustic, 
awkward, and unpolished as she is, 
has more charms for me than any other 
of the pleasures of life beside — as I hope 
she will not then desert me, I may 
even then learn to be, if not happy, at 
least easy, and soviih a sang to sooth* 
my misery. — R B. 



EPIGRAMS, &=€. 



H\ 



I BURN, I BURN.' 

' I BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripcn'd 
com. 

By driving winds the crackling flames 
are borne," 

Now maddening, wild, I cm^e that 
fatal night ; 

Now bless the hour which charm'd my 
guilty sight. 

In vain the laws their feeble force op- 
pose : 

Chain'd at his feet they groan. Love's 
vanquish'.l foes ; 

In vain Religion meets my sinking eye ; 

I dare not combat — but Iturn and fly ; 

Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhal- 
lowed fire ; 

I ove grasps his scorpions — stifled they 
expire ! 

keason drops headlong from his sacred 



/our dear idea reigns and reigns alone : 
Elach thought intoxicated homage 

yields, 
And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know I 
By all the conscious villain fears below 1 
By your dear self ! — the last great oath 

I swear ; 
Nor Ufe nor soul were ever half so 

dear! 



TAM THE CHAPMAN." 

As Tam, the Chapman, on a day 
Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight Gas 

famous. 
And Death was nae less pleased wi' 

Thomas, 
Wlia cheerfully lays down the pack. 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ; 



» To Clarinda. 

' Mr. Kennedy, who is styled " Chap 
nan," in allusion to his connexion witn 
I VfTcantile house, as agent. 



His social, friendly, honest heart, 
Sae tickled Death they could na part; 
Sae after viewing knives and garters. 
Death takes him hame to gie him quar 
ters. 



TO DR. MAXWELL, ON MISS 
JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY.' 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 

That merit I deny: 
You save fair Jessy from the grave ! 

An Angel could not die. 



THE PARVENU, 

WRITTEN IN REPLY TO THE BOASTINGS 
OF AN ILL-EDUCATED COXCOMB, WHC 
WAS BORING THE COMPANY WITH AN 
ACCOUNT OF THE MANY GREAT PEO- 
PLE HE HAD BEEN VISITING. 

No more of your titled acquaintances 

boast. 

And in what lordly circles you've 

been; 

An insect is still but an insect at most, 

Tho' it crawl on the head of a queen 



TO THE OWL. 

BY JOHN M'CREDDIE.^ 

Sad Bird of Night, what sorrow calls 
thee forth, 
To vent thy plaints thus in the mid- 
night hour ; 
Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 
Threat'ning to nip the verdiu-e of thy 
bow-r? 
If it, sad Owl, that Autumn strips the 
ihade. 
And leaves thee here, unshelter'd 
and forlorn ? 

^ Dr. Maxwell," says Bums in a 
letter to Thomson, "was the physician 
who seemiigly saved her from the 
grave ; " and accordmgly the poet wrote 
the above ■ipigram. 

^ Mr. M'Creddie is supposed to be a 
mythical personage, ths verses havirj 
beenfcund m thshand-w/icingof Bura» 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Or fear that Winter will thy nest in- 
vade? 
Or friendly Melancholy bids thee 
mourn? 
Bhut out, lone Bird, from all the 
feather d train. 
To tell thy sorrows to th' unheeding 
gloom ; 
No friend to pity when thou dost com- 
plain, 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude 
thy home. 
Sing on, sad mourner 1 I will bless thy 
strain, 
And pleased in sorrow listen to thy 
scmg: 
Sing on, sad mourner! to the night 
complain. 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes 
along. 
Is beauty less, when doMm the glow- 
ing cheek 
Sad piteous tears in native sorrows 
fall? 
Less kind the heart, when Sorrow bids 
it break? 
Less happy he who lists to Pity's 
call? 

Ah no, sad Owl I nor is thy voice less 
sweet. 
That Sadness times it, and that Grief 
is there ; 
That Spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou 
canst repeat ; 
And Sorrow' bids thee to the gloom 
repair. 
Kor that the treble songsters of the day. 
Are quite estranged, sad Bird of 
night ! from thee ; 
Nor that the thrush deserts the evening 
spray. 
When darkness calls thee from thy 
reverie. 

From some old tower, thy melancholy 
dome. 
While the grey walls and d«-sert 
solitudes 
■k.etum each note, responsive, to the 
gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding 
woods; 



There hooting, I will list ^>iore pleased 
to thee. 
Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
Or drooping wretch, oppress'd witk 
misery. 
Lending his ear to some condolina 
tale. 



WAS E'ER PUIR POET.' 

"Was e[er puir Poet sae befitted, 
The maister drunk — the horse com- 
mitted : 
Puir harmless beast ! tak thee nae care, 
Thou'lt be a horse, when he' j nae mair 
(mayor)." 



THERE'S NAETHING LIKE 
THE HONEST NAPPY. 

There's naething like the honest 

nappy ! 
Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy. 
Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy, 

'Tween mom and moni^ 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn. 
I've seen me daez't upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ;' 
Just ae hauf muchkinS does me primes 

Ought less is little ; 
Then back I rattle on the rhym« 

As gleg's a whittle 1 



TO THE RUINS OF LINCLU- 
DEN ABBEY. 4 

Ye holy walls, that still sublime 
Resist the crumbling touch of rime. 



'Buns once visited Carlisle; aaif 
while he was in the condition wiiich 
his verses describe, the Mayer put kit 
horse, which had trespassed on a cor- 
poration meadow, into the " pound." 

^ Glimmer. 3 Half-a-pint. 

■♦ On the banks of the river Cluden. 
near Dunifries. Th; verses wa» 



J low strongly still your fonn displays 
The piety of ancient days. 
As through your ruins, hoai and grey — 
Ruins, yet beauteous in decay— 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly, 
Ths forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's wond'ring eye, 
And wake the soul to musings high. 
Ev'n now, as lost in thought profound, 
I view the solemn scene around, 
And pensive gaze with wistful eyes. 
The past returns, the present flies ; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride. 
Lifts high its roof, and arches wide. 
That, knit with curious tracery 
Each Gothic ornament display ; 
The high-arched windows, painted fair. 
Show many a saint and martyr there ; 
As on their slender forms I gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ; 
With noiseless step and taper bright. 
What are yon forms that meet my sight ? 
Slowly they move, while every eye 
Is heavenward raised in ecstasy : — 
'Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train, 
That seeks in prayer the midnight fane. 
And hark ! what more than mortal sound 
Of music breathes the pile around ? 
'Tis the soft-chaimted choral song. 
Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong: 
Till thence retum'd they softly stray 
O'er Cluden's wave with fond delay ; 
Now on the rising gale swell high. 
And now in fainting murmurs die : 
The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream, 
That glistens in the pale moon's beam. 
Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
The holy anthem, loud and clear ; 
Each worldly thought awhile forbear, 
.Ind mutter forth a half-forrned prayer. 
But as I gaze, the vision fails. 
Like frost-work touch'd by southern 

gales ; 
The altar sinks, the tapers fade. 
And all the splendid scene's decayd. 
In window fair the painted pane 
No longer glows with holy stain. 
But, through the broken glass, the gale 
Blows chilly from the misty vale. 



•scribed to Bums by an anonymous 
tniter, and are included in later editioos 
df his works- 



The bird of eve flits sullen by. 
Her home, these aisles and arches iiigh. 
The choral hymn, that erst so clear 
Broke softly sweet ou Fancy's ear. 
Is drown'd amid the mournful scream. 
That breaks the magic of my dream : 
Roused by the sound, I start and see 
The ruin'd, sad reality. 



PROLOGUE,' 
SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS, 
ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT 

MONDAY, APRIL l6, I787. 

When by a generous Public's kind 
acclaim. 

That dearest meed is granted — honest 
fame: 

When here your favour is the actor's 
lot. 

Nor evn the man in private life forgot ; 

What breast, so dead to heav'nly virtue's 
glow. 

But heaves impassion'd with the grate- 
ful throe f 
Poor is the task to please a barb'roua 
throng. 

It needs no Siddons' power in South- 
em's song : 

But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 

For genius, learning high, as great in 
war — 

Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 

Before whose sons I'm honour'd to ap- 
pear ! 

Where every science, every nobler 
art— 

That can inform the mind, or mend 
the heart. 

Is known ; as grateful nations oft have 
found. 

Far as the rude barbarian marks the 
bound. 

Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream, |^ 

Here holds her search, by heaven-taught 
Reason's beam ; 

^ Ascribed to ijums on very dight 
evidence. 

L 2 



.48 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Here History paints, with elegance 
and force, 

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare 
into plan. 

And Harley rouses all the God in man. 

VVlien well-form'd taste and sparkling 
wit unite. 

With manly lore, or female beauty 
bright 

(Beauty, where faultless synunetry and 
grace, 

Can only charm us in the second place). 

Witness my heart, how oft with pant- 
ing fear. 

As on this night, I've met these judges 
here ! 

But still the hope Experience taught to 
live. 

Equal to judge — you're candid to for- 
give. 

No hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 

With decency and law beneath his feet, 

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's 
name; 

Ijke Caledonians, you applaud or 
blame. 
O Thou, dread Power ! whose em- 
pire-giving hand 

Has oft been stretch'd to shield the 
honour" d land ! 

Strong may she glow with all her an- 
cient fire ; 

May every son be worthy of his sire ; 

Firm may she rise with generous dis- 
dain 

At Tyrannys, or direr Pleasure's, 
chain; 

Still self-dependent in her native shore, 

Bold may she brave grim Danger's 
loudest roar 

rill Fate the curtain drop on worlds to 
be no more I 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT.' 

* All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
K harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting 
villain, 

' In my early years nothing less would 
ktcvs me thiiit courting Uie Tragic 



Still my heart melts at human wietcb- 
edness; 

And with sincere, tho' unavailing, sighj 

I view the helpless children of distre<is. 

With tears indignant I behold the op" 
pressor 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruc- 
tion. 

Whose vmsubmitting heart was all his 
crime. 

EVn you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin 
to pity ; 

Yepoor,despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds. 

Whom Vice, as usual, has tum'd o'er 
to Ruin. 

but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 

1 had been driven forth like you, for- 

lorn. 

The most detested, worthless wretch 
among you ! 

O injur'd God ! thy goodness has en- 
dow'djne 

With talents passing most of my com- 
peers. 

Which I in just proportion have abus'd 

As far surpassing other common vil- 
lains. 

As Thou in natiual parts hadst giveo 
me more." 



O CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 

O CAN ye labour lea, young man. 

An' can ye labour lea ; 
Gae back the gate ye c*m' again, 

Ye'se never scorn me. 



Muse. I was, I think, about eighteev 
or nineteen when I i ketcbed the out- 
lines of a tragedy, forsooth: but the 
bursting of a cloud of family misfor- 
tunes, which had for some time threat- 
ened us, prevented my further pro- 
gress. In those days I never wi-ote 
down anything; so, except a speed) 
or two, the whole has escaped my 
memory. The following, which I most 
distinctly remember, was an exclam 
ation from a great character — great it 
occasional instances of generosity, and 
daring at times in villanies. — R. B. 



[ feed a man at Martinmas, 

Wi' airl '-pennies three ; 
An' a' the faut I fan' wi' him. 

He couldna labour lea. 

The stibble ri; is easy plough' d. 

The fallow land is free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless c oof. 

That couldna labour lea 7 



O Thou, in whom we live and move, 
Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove. 
And grateful would adore. 

Aa<3 f it please thee, PoVr above ! 

Still grant us with such store. 
The friend we trust, the fair we Utn. 

And we desire no mors 



SONGS. 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.* 



TUNE — " MISS FORBES'S FAREWELL TO BANFF.' 



TwAS even — the dewy fields were 
green. 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
rhe Zephyrs wanton'd round the bean. 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the Mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while. 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray' d. 
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy. 

When musing in a lonely glade, 
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 

Her look was like the morning's eye. 
Her air like nature's vernal smile, 



* "The Lass of Ballochmyle" was 
Miss Alexander, whose brother had re- 
cently come to reside in Ballochmyle 
House, of which the pleasure grounds 
extend along the north bank of the Ayr. 
The farm of Bums, Mossgiel, was in 
the immediate neighbourhood. — He ifl- 
closed a copy of the song to Miss Alex- 
ander, and was extremely indignant 
at the lady's silence respecting his let- 
ter. Of the verses his own opinion was 
jUstly high: — "I think myself," he 
told Mrs. Stewart of Stair, " it has some 
merit, both as a tolerable description 
of one of Nature's scenes — 3l July even- 
ing, and one of the finest pieces of 
Nature's workmanship, — the finest in- 
deed we know anything of — an amiable, 
beautifnl young woman." 



Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 
" Behold the Lass o' Ballochmyle !' 

Fair is the mom in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does com- 
pile ; 
EVn there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid. 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed _ 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain : 
Thro' weary Winter's wind and rain. 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil J 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry 
steep. 
Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the 
deep. 
Or downward seek the Indian Tnine : 
Give me the cot below the pine. 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil. 
And every day have joys divine 
With the bonnie Lass o' Balloch- 
myle.' 



* Under the above song is wiiues 
'Miss Willie Alexander." 



SONG OF DEATH.' 

A GAELIC AIR. 

Scene— A field of battle. Time of the 
day — Evening. The wounded and 
dying of the victorious army are 
supposed to join in the song. 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green 
earth, and ye skies. 
Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ya 
dear, tender ties, 
Our race of existence is run ! 
Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's 
gloomy foe ! 
Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! 
but know. 
No terrors hast thou for the brave ! 
Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he 
sinks in the dark. 
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glori- 
ous mark ! 
He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
lu the field of proud honour — our 
swords in our hands. 
Our King and our Country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebb- 
ing sands, 
O ! who would not die with the 
brave ! 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE ! O. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 
Tells bughtin-time ^ is near, my jo; 

' When the pressing nature of public 
affairs called, in 1795, for a general 
arming of the people, Bums appeared 
in the ranks of the " Dumfries Volun- 
teers," employed his poetical talents ^n 
Etiiniilating their patriotism; and at 
this season of alarm he brought for- 
ward the following hjTnn. — (Currie.) 
The song was written in 1791. 

" Time of collecting the shees. 



t»». 151 

And owsen' frae the furroVd field 
, Return sae dowf and wearie, O ; 
Down by the bum, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on tlie lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 
In mirkest glen, at midnight hoUf, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O. 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee. 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild. 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 
" My ain kind dearie ! O. 
The hunter lo'es the morning sun. 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the bum to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey. 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons" 

in yon glen. 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale 

of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has 

owsen and kine, 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and 

mine. 
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest 

in May; 
She's sweet as the evening amang the 

new hay ; 
As bljrthe and as artless as lamb oa 

the lea. 
And dear to my heart, as the light to 

my e'e. 
But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's 

a laird. 
And my daddie has nought but a cot- 
house and yard ; 
A wooer like me maimna hope to come 

speed ; 
The wound I must hije that will soo« 

be my dead. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



The dajr comes to me, but delight 

brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it 

is gane : 
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled 

ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst 

in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd 

upon me ; _ 
O how past describing had then been 

my bliss, 
ka now my distraction no words can 

express ! 



NAEBODY. 



I HAE a wife o' my ain, 

I'll partake wi' naebody ; 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 

I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 
I hae a penny to spend. 

There — thanks to naebody ; 
( hae naething to lend, 

I'll borrow frae naebody. 
I am naebody's lord, 

I'll be slave to naebody ; 
I hae a guid braid sword, 

I'll tak dunts' frae naebody. 
I'll be merry and free, 

I'll be sad for naebody ; 
If naebody care for me, 

I'll care for naebody. 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE 
THING.' 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 

' Knocks. 

' There is a_ peculiar rhythmus in 
many of our airs, and a necessity of 
kdaptiug syllables to the emphasis, or 
ivhat I would call the feature-notes 
•f the tune, that cramp tne poet, and 



She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And neist' my heart I'll weai ho 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack we share o't. 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



DUNCAN GRAY." 

Duncan Gray came here to woo. 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
On blythe yule 3 night when we we^ 
fou. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Maggie coosf* her head fu' high, 

Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,S 

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 6 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

lay him under almost insuperable diffi« 
culties. For instance, in the air, " My 
Wife's a wanton wee Thing," if a few 
lines, smooth and pretty, can be adapt- 
ed to it, it is all you can expect. The 
following were made extempore to it S 
and though, on further study, I might 
give you something more profound, 
yet it might not suit the light-horse 
gallop of the air so well as this random 
clink. — Burns to Thomson. 

^ Next. 

^ The foregoing I submit to your 
better judgment ; acquit them or con- 
demn them as seemeth good in your 
sight. "Duncan Gray" is that kind 
of light-horse gallop of an air which 
precludes sentiment. The ludicrous il 
its ruling featm-e. — Burns to Thomson, 

3 Christmas. ■* Tossed. 5 Proud 

6 At a shy distance. 



DfiiSan fleech'd/ and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith blecr't and blin',' 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; ^ 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Time and chance are but a tide. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me I 

Ha, ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors tell. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things I 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
i's was a piteous case. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Dimcan couldna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd "* his wrath ; _ 
Now the/re crouse and cantieS baith. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



O POORTITH. 

TUNE— " I HAD A HORSE." 

POORTITH cauld, and restless love. 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
ITet poortith a' I could forgive. 
An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have. 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 

Or why sae sweet a flower as love 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 



This warld's wealth V-.<sn ' think m. 
Its pride, and a' the lave o't ; 

Fie, ne on silly coward man. 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c. 

Her e'en sae honnie blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword aye. 
She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, &c. 

O wha can prudence think upon. 

And sic a lassie by him t 
O wha can prudence think upon. 
And sae in love as I am 7 
O why, &c. 
How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles,^ wealth and state, 
Can never make them eerie. 
O why should fate sic pleasure have. 
Life's dearest bands untwining T 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining? 



' Besought. ' Bleared and blind. 
'Precipice. 't Snrothered. 

• Cheerful and merry. 



GALLA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow 
braes. 

That wander thro' the blooming 
heather ; 
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws. 

Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 
But there is ane, a secret ane, 

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine. 

The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 
Altho' his daddie was nae laird. 

And tho' I hae nae miekle tocher;' 
Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water, 
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 

That coft3 contentment, peace, oi 
pleasure ; 
The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure 



Hobgoblins. ' Marriage portioa 
3 Bought. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



LORD GREGORY.' 

D MikK, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
\ waefu' wanderer seeks thy toVr, 

Lord Gregory, — ope thy door. 
An exile frae her father's ha'. 

And a' for loving thee ; 
A.t least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it mayna be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the 
grove. 

By bonnie Irwiae side. 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love, 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow. 
Thou wad for aye be mine ! 

And my fond heart, itsel sae true. 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

O wilt thou g^ve me rest ! 

Ve mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love. 

His wrangs to heaven and me 1 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH I 

WITH ALTERATIONS. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew. 
Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove 
true. 
Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

tjauld is the blast upon my pale cheek. 
But caulder thy love for me, oh ! 



* A friend of Bums writes— "We 
bad the song of ' Lord Gregory,' which 
I asked for to have an opportunity of 
calling on Bums to recite his ballad to 
that tune. He did recite it, and such 
Was the effect that a dead Mlence en- 
lued." 



The frost, that freezes the life at iqy 
heart, 
Is nought to my pains fra thee, oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind th« 
white wave. 
And time is setting with me, oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for 
mair 
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh I 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd 
it wide ; 
She sees his pale corse o& the plain 
ohl 
My tme love ! she cried, and sank dowp 
by his side. 
Never to rise again, oh ! 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

AIR— "hey, BONNIE LASS, WILL \OU 
LIE IN A BARRACK." 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill hat . 

gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill hai 

gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof ' wi' a claut " rf 

siller. 
And broken the heart o' the barl«y 

Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was 

ruddy; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a 

lady ; 
The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit^ 

kmu:l ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en tha 

chiurl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal 
and loving ; 

The Laird did address her wi' matter 
mair moving, 

A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained 
bridle, 

A whip by her side, and a bonnie side- 
saddle. 



Blockhead. ' A scraping. 

3 Crooked, bleared. 



wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a 

mailen ! ^ 
A tocher's nae w6rd in a true lover's 

parle,* 
Bnt, gie me my love, and a fij; for the 

warll 



JESSIE. 

TUNB — "BONNIE DUNDEE." 

Tmvk hearted was he, the sad swain o' 
the Yarrow, 
And fair are the maids on the banks 
o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's 
winding river. 
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens 
as fair: 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland 
all over ; 
To equal yoimg Jessie you seek it in 
vain; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her 
lover. 
And maidenly modesty fixes the 
chain, 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy 
morning. 
And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young 
Jessie, 
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnar- 
ing; 
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his la'. 
And still to her charms she alone is a 
stranger, — 
Her modest demeanour's the jewel 
of a'. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

Hbrb awa, there awa, wandering 

Willie ; ^ 

Now tired with wandering, haud awa 



Fann. 



Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 
Tell me thou brmg'st me my Willi* 
the same. 
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at 
our parting. 
Fears for my Willie brought the tear 
in my e'e ; 
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome 
my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to 
me! 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o* 
your slumbers ; 
How your dread howling a lover 
alarms ! 
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye 
billows. 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair 
to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na 
his Nannie, 
O still flow between us, thou wide- 
roaring main ; 
May I never see it, may I neyer trow it. 
But, dying, believe that tiy Willie'i 
my ain. 



LOGAN BRAES. 



TUNE— "LOGAN WATER." 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willis's bnde ; 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun ; 
But now thy floVry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear. 
While my dear lad maun face his fai^ 
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes. 
Again the merry month o' May 
Has made oiu- hills and valleys gay ; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
The bees hum round the breathiojf 
flowers ; 



' The song was the fruit of " th ee« 
quarters of an hour'f cvditation' ty 
the poet in his elbow-Jmir, oi iui 
wickedness of ambitioa. 



tif 



iVORKS OF BURNS. 



Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears of joy : 
My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 
Wliile Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush : 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer. 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days. 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 
D w ae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye mak monie a fond heart mouru, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie hame to Logan Braes 1 



THERE WAS A LASS.' 

TUNE — "BONNIE JEAN." 

There was a lass, and she was fair. 

At kirk and market to be seen ; 
When a' the fairest maids were met, 

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 
And aye she wrought her mammie's 
wark. 

And aye she sang sae merrily ; 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 
But hawks viL rob the tender joys 

That bless the little lintwhite's nest; 
And frost will blight the fairest flowers ; 

And love will break the soundest rest. 
ITouilg Robie was the brawest lad. 

The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 

And wanton naigies nine or ten. 
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste. 

He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist. 

Her heart was tint, her peace was 
stown. 



Misc Jean M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig. 



As in the bosom o' the stream 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'cB 
So trenibling, pure, was tender love 

Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 
And now she works her mammie's warli, 

And aye she sighs wi' care and pain 
Yet wistna what her ail might be,_ 

Or what wad mak her weel again. 
But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 

And didna joy blink in her e'e, 
As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 

Ae e'enin on the lily lea ? 
The sun was sinking in the west. 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grovt ; 
His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 

And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 
" O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot. 

And learn to tent the farms wi' mr 
"At barn or byre thou shaltna drudji^ 

Or naething else to troubla thoe ; 
But stray amang the heather-bells. 

And tent the waving com wi' me. 
Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had na will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet cons« % 

And love was aye between them ti , 



PHILLIS THE FAIR.' 

TUNE— "robin ADAIR." 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air. 
Tasting the breathing spring. 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains hig^; 
Such thy mom ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 
In each bird's careless song 

Glad did I share ; 
While yon vidld flowers among. 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day. 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spcay ; 



Said to be the sister of Jean M 'Mufda 



Such thy 'bloom ! did I say, 

PhillU the fair. 
Down in a shady walk. 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may Fortune be. 
Such make his destiny, 
He who would injure thee 

Phillis the fair. 



BY ALLAN STREAM.^ 

TUNE—" ALLAN WATER." 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove 
While Phoebus sank beyond Ben- 
leddi;^ 
The winds were whispering thro' the 
grove. 
The yellow com was waving ready : 
I listen' d to a lover's sang. 
And thought on youthfu' pleasures 



_' I walked out yesterday evening, 
with a volimie ofthe"Museum"in my 
hand ; when tumingup " Allan Water," 
"What numbers shall the Muse re- 
peat," &c., as the words appeared to 
me rather unworthy of so fine an air, 
and recollecting that it is on your list, 
I sat, and raved, vmder the shade of 
an old thorn, till I wrote out one to 
suit the measure. I may be wrong, but 
I think it not in my worst style. You 
must know, that in Ramsay's " Tea- 
table," where the modem song first 
appeared, the ancient name of the tune, 
Allan says, is " Allan Water," or "My 
love Annie's very bonnie." This last 
has certainly been a line of the original 
song ; so I look up the idea, and, as 
you will see, have mtroduced the line 
In its place, which I presume it formerly 
Bccupied ; though I likewise give you 
a choosing line, if it should not hit the 
cut of your fancy. "Bravo," say I : 
"it is a good song."— Burns to Thom- 
y>ft. 

' A mountain west of StratlaSan, 
MX)o feet high.— R. B 



And aye the wild-wood echoes rang — 

O dearly do I love thee, Annie ! ' 
O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dear'ie I 
Her head upon my throbbing breast. 

She, sLnlang, said " I am tliine foi 
ever ! " 
While monie a kiss the seal imprest. 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should 
sever. 

The haunt o' spring's the primrosa 
brae ; 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery, thro' her shortening day. 

Is autunrn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart. 

Or chain the soul in speechless plea- 
sure. 
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart. 

Like meeting her, our bosom's trea* 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO 
YOU, MY LAD. 

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, 

my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad: 
Tho' father and mither and a' should 



gae mad, 
O whist: 



istle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad. 
But warily tent, when ye come to court 



And comena unless the back-yctt be 

a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody 

see, 
And come as ye werena coming to me. 
And come, &c. 

At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet 

me. 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'dna a 

flie: 

* Or, " O my Icre Annie's vert 
bonnie." — R, B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But steal me a blink o'your bonnie black 

e'e, 
Vet look as ye werena lookin at me. 
Vet look, &c. 

O whistle, &c. 
Aye vow and protest that ye carena 

for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty 

a wee ; 
But courtna anither, the' jokin ye be. 
For fear thai she wyle your fancy 

frae me. 
For fear, &c. 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad; 
O whistle, and I'D come to you, my 

lad: 
Tho' father and mither and a' should 

gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE 
YOUR STRIFE. 

TUNE—" JO JANET." 

" Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
Xho' I am your wedded wife. 

Yet I am not your slave, sir." 

" One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Is it man, or woman, say, 

My spouse, Nancy?" 
" If 'tis still the lordly word. 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sovereign lord. 

And so, good-bye, allegiance 1 " 
" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy ! 
ITet I'll try to make a shift. 

My spouse, Nancy." 
* My poor heart then break it must, 

My last hoiu: I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust, 

Thinlc, think how you will bear it." 

I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy; 



Strength to bear it will be given. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

" Well, sir, from the silent dead 
Still I'll try to daunt you ; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you." 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Then all hell will fly for fear. 

My spouse, Nancy." 



HAD I A CAVE, 

TUNE — " ROBIN ADAIR." 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant 

shore, 
Where the wmds howl to the waves 
dashing roar ; 
There would I weep my woes. 
There seek my lost repose. 
Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou de- 
clare 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleednf 

as air? 
To thy new lover hie. 
Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
Then in thy bosom try, 
What peace is there I 



DELUDED SWAIN. 

TUNE—" THE collier's DOCHTER." 

Deluded swain, the pleasure, 

The fickle Fair can give thee. 
Is but a fairy treasure. 

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee 
The billows on the ocean, 

The breezes idly roamin'. 
The clouds' uncertain motion, — 

They are bit types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou wouldst be named. 

Despise the silly creature. 



Gc, find on honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee : 
Hold on till thou art mellow. 

And then to bed in glory. 



SONG. 



TONE — " THE Quaker's wife." 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Ev'ry puke along my veins, 
EVry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart. 
There to throb and languish : 

Tbo' despair had wrung its core. 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away these rosy lips. 
Rich with balmy treasure ! 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasiu-e ! 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning ! 
Love's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?' 

A NEW SCOTS SONG. 
TUNB — "the SUTOR's DOCHTER." 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart. 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul. 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shalt ever be my dearie — 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shalt ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say tlou lo'es me ; 
Or if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
If It vmma, caniia be. 
Thou for thiae may choose me^ 

' Bums considered this to be one of 
his best songs. 



Let 'me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting t!_it thou lo'es me- 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
T — »; — . fjj^j ^J^Q^ jjj'gg jjjg_ 



HERE IS THE GLEN.» 
TUNE— "banks ok creb." 

Here :s the glen, and here the bowel 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village bell has toU'd the hour, 
O vhat can stay my lovely maid J 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the bahny breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall. 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear I 

So calls the woodlark in the grove 
His little faithful mate to cheer. 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come f and art thou true : 
O welcome, dear to love and me ! 

And let us all our vows renew. 
Along the flov/ry banks of Cree. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR 
AWAY." 



How can my poor heart be glad. 
When absent from my Sailor lad 1 
How can I the thought forego. 
He's on the seas to meet the foe? 



* I got an air, pretty enough, com- 
posed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, cf 
Heron, which she calls "The Banks 
of the Cree." Cree is a beautiful 
romantic stream ; and as her ladyship 
is a particular friend of mine, I hav# 
written this song to it. — R. B. 

^ Bums was at first pleased with thes* 
verses, but he afterwards thought 
them imequal and "flimsy." And 
bis second thoughts were the best. 



ite 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Let me wander, let me rove. 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day" 
Are with him that's far away. 
On the seas and far away. 
On stormy seas' and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 
When in summer's noon I faint. 
As weary flocks around me pant. 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My Sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you may, 
Spare but him that's far away ! 

At the starless midnight hour. 

When winter rules with boundless 

power; 
As the storms the forest tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air. 
Listening to the doubling roar. 
Surging on the rocky shore. 
All I can— I weep and pray. 
For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy_ olive wand extend. 
And bid wild War his ravage end, 
Man with brother man to meet. 
And as a brother kindly greet: 
Then may Heaven with prosp'rous gales 
Fill my Sailor's welcome sails. 
To my arms their charge convey. 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seas and far away 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 



HARK ! THE MAVIS. 



Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the bumie rows,' 
My bouiie dearie. 

'Rolls. 



Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clquden's woods aj 
Then a faulding let us gang. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side. 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine midright hours. 
O'er the dewy-bending flowers. 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and Heaven sae deat', 
Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown' my very heart; 
I can die — but canna part. 
My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grow^ 
Ca' them where the bxxmie rows. 
My bonnie dearie. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST 
OF A'.» 

TUNB— " ONAGh'S water-fall." 

Sak flaxen were her ringlets. 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchmgly o'erarching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie Wue. 
Her smiling, sae wyling. 

Wad make a wretch forget his wee 
What pleasiu-e, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow I 



• Stolen. 

' The lady in whose honour Burni 
composed this song was Miss Lorima^ 
of Craigiebum. 



Bnch was my Chloris' bonnie face. 

When first her bonnie face I saw, 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es vae best of a'. 
Like harmony her motion ; 

Her prettjr ancle is a spy 
Betraymg fair proportion. 

Wad make a saint forget the sky ; 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Declar'd that she could do naemair: 
Hers are the willing chauis o' love. 

By conquering Beauty's sovereign 
law ; 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 
Let others love the city. 

And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley. 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming. 

Her silver Ught the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes his 



By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 

And hear my vows o' truth and love. 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 



MY HANDSOME NELL.» 

TUNE—" I AM A MAN UNMARRIED," 

Oh, once I loVd a bonny lass, 
' Ay, and I love her still ; 

* This was Nelly Fitzpatrick, the 
daughter of the village blacksmith. 
"This song," says Bums, "was the 
first of my performances, and done at 
an early period of my life, when my 
heart glowed with honest, warm sim- 
Vlicity— unacquainted and uncorrupted 
vith the ways of a wicked world. It 
has many faults ; but I remember I 
composed it in a wild enthusiasm of 
passion ; and to this hour I never re- 
Ctillect it but my heart melts — my blood 
ktHieg at the i«ffiembrance." 



And while that virtue warms my hnnl 

I'll love my handsome NelL 
Fal, lal de ral, &c. 
As bonny lasses I hae seen. 

And mony full as braw ; * 
But for a modest, gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 
A bonny lass, I will confess. 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 
But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet ; 

And, what is best of a'. 
Her reputation is complete. 

And fair without a flaw. 
She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 

Baith decent and genteel ; 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars" ony dress look weel. 
A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart ; 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That puhshes the dart. 
'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants my soul 1 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without controL 



HOW LANG AND DREARY. 



TUNE- 



CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 



How lang and dreary b the night. 
When I am frae my dearie ; 

I restless lie frae e'en to mom, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh ! her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh ! her widoVd heart is sair. 
That's absent frae her dearie. 
When I think on the lightsome days 

I spent wi' thee, my dearie ? 
And now that seas between us roar,-* 
How can I be but eerie ? 
For oh, &c. 

* WellH 



tVORKS OF BVRN&. 



How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how dreane I 
h wasna sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE 
LOCKS. 

TUNE — *- rothikmurchik's rant." 

CHORUS. 

Lassie wi' the_ lint- white locks 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie. 

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ! 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
Anda' is young and sweet like thee, 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me. 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O ? 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has dieer'd ilk drooping Uttle flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
The weary shearer's hameward way. 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray. 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 



Lassie wi', &c. 



And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie. 
Wilt tliou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? ' 



' This piece has at least the merit of 
^eing a regular pastoral: the vernal 
moon, the summer noon, the autumnal 
evening, and the wintei night, are re- 
(ukrly rounded.— R. B. 



THE AULD HAN. 

TUNE— " GIL MORICE." 

But lately seen in gladsome gtee^ 

The woods rejoic'd the day. 
Thro' gentle showers the Uughta^ 
flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our jo5rs are fled. 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe* 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield," 

Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! _ . 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime. 

Why com'st thou not again! 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SA- 
LUTE TO HIS MISTRESS.3 • 

TUNK— "dEIL TAK THE WARS." 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, iwvt 
creature ? 

Rosy mom now lifts his eye. 
Numbering ilka bud which Nature 

Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now thro' the leafy woods. 

And by the reeking floods 
Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly 
stray ; 

The lint white in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower ; 

The laVrock to the sky 

Ascends .wi' sangs o' joy,_ 
While the sun and thou arise to bim 
the day. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' 
Banishes ilk darksome shade. 

Nature gladdening and adorning ; 
Such to me my lovely maid. 



» Thaw. _' Without sheluw. 

3 Miss Lorimer is reported to ha»* 
inspired these verses. 



When absent frae my fair. 
The murky shades o' care 
RTith starless gloom o'ercast my sullen 

sky: 
But when in beauty's lig;ht. 
She meets my ravish'd sight. 
When thro' my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart, 
Tis then I wake to life, to Ught, and j oy. 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 

TUNE—" LUMPS O' PUDDING." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie ' wi' 

Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and 

care, 
t gie them "a skelp' as they're creepia' 

alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats,3 and an auld 

Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome 

thought ; 
But man is a sodger.and life is a faught:* 
My mirth and guid humoiu: are coin in 

my pouch. 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae 

monarch dare touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be 

my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sowthersS 

it a; 
When at theblythe end of our journey 

at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he 

has past i 
Blind Chance, let her snapper and 

stoyteS on her way, 
Be'l to me, be't frae me, e'en let the 

jad gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come 

pleasure or pain ; 
My warst word is — "Welcome, and 

welcome again !" 



• Cheerfiil. » Slap. 

• Jug of good ale. * Fight. 
>wOulcrs. > 6 Mistake and stumble. 



FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. 

TUNE — "nancy's to THE GREENWOOD 
GANE." 

Farewell, thou stream that winding 
flows 
Around EUza's dwelling ! 

Mem'ry ! spare the cruel throeSi 
Within my bosom swelling : 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless ^hain^ 
And yet in secret languish. 

To feel a fire in eVry vein. 
Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, an* 
known, 

I fain niy griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweetinggroaOi 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair. 
Nor wilt, nor canst, reheve me ; 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer. 
For pity's sake forgive me 1 

The music of thy voice I heard. 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing feai'd. 

Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



MY NANNIE'S AWA. 



TUNE—" there'll 1 

TILL JAMIE COMES HAME." 

Now in her green mantle blythe N» 

ture arrays. 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'ei 

the braes. 
While birds warble welcome in ilka 

green shaw ; 
But to me it's dehghtless— my Nannie'i 

awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our wood- 

lands adorn. 
And violets barfie in the weet o' th« 

morn: 

11 g 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



rhey pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly 
they_ blaw. 

They mind me o' Nannie— my Nan- 
nie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the 
dews o' the lawn, 

The shepherd to warn o' the grey- 
breaking dawn, 

And thou mellow mavis that hails the 
night-fa', _ 

Gie over for pity — my Nannie's awa. 

Come Autumn sae pensive, in yellow 
and gray. 

And soothe me wi' tidings o' natiu-e's 
decay ; 

The dark, dreary Winter, and wild- 
driving snaw, 

Alane can delight me — ^now Nannie's 
awa. 



SWEET FA'S THE EVE.', 

TUNB— " CRAIGIEBURN-WOOD." 

SvntBT fa's the eve on Craigiebum, 
And blythe awakes the morrow, 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 
Yet dare na for your anger ; 

But secret love will break my heart. 
If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me. 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree, 

Aroimd my grave they'll wither. 



* Bums again celebrates Miss Lori- 
tusr. Crai^ebum-wood is situate on 
the banks of the river Moffat. The 
mroods of Craigiebura acd of Duncrief 
were, at out txae. favourite haunts of 
Bur poet (CuuciE.) 



O LASSIE, ART, THOU SIEEIP 
ING YET 1 

TUNE—" LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT.* 

O LASSIE, art thou sleepbg yet? 
Or art thou wakin', I would wit? 
F(H- love has bound me, hand and foo4^ 
And I would fain be in, jo. 



O let me in this ae night 
This ae, ae, ae night; 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

rise and let me in, jo. 
Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet • 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cauM 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 

let me in, &c. 

HER ANSWER. 

O TELL na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gait ye cam again, 
I wiima let you m, jo. 

CHORUS. 

1 tell you now this ae night. 
This ae, ae, ae night. 

And ance for a' this ae night- 

1 winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest' blast, at mirkest' ho:ir«. 
That round the pathless wand'rer poi<n. 
Is nocht to what poor she endures. 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The' sweetest flower that deck'd ifc« 

mead. 
Now trodden like the vilest weed; 
Let simple maid the lesson read. 
The weird3 may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

' Bitterest. ' Darkest. l *■»'» 



Ilie Inrd that charm'd his t<unmer-day, 
h now the cruel fowler's prey : 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 



TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE 
E'E. 

TUNB— " LADDIE, LIB NEAR ME." 

TwAS na her bonnie blue e'e was my 

ruin; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my 

undoin' ; 
Twas the dear smile when naebody 

did mind us, 
Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown ' 

glance o' kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide 

me; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to 

sever. 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for 

ever. 

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sin- 

cerest. 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the 

dearest ! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can 

alter. 
Sooner. the svm in his motion would 

falter. 



SONG. 

TUNE — " HUMOURS OF GLEN." 

Their groves o' sweet myrtles let fo- 
reign lands reckon. 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt 
their perfume ; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green 
breckan,'' 
Wi' the bwra stealing under the lang 
yellow broom. 



Stolen. 



Fern. 



7S. x6s 

Far dearer to me are yon humble bioom 
bowers. 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk 
lowly unseen : 
For there lightly tripping amang th« 
wild flowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft waaden 
my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in Iheir gay 
sunny valleys. 
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the 



skirt the proud palace. 
What are they ? The haunt of the 
tyrant and slave ! 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold- 
bubbling fountains. 
The brave OEdedonian views wi' dis« 
dain; 

He wanders as free as the winds of hi« 



Save love's willing fetters, the c 
o' his Jean. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

TUNE— "WHERE'lL BONNIE ANN LIB," 

O STAY, 'sweet warbling wood-larl^ 

stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray ; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay,_ 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part. 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her he^t, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard thee as the careless windl 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mail 
Or my poor heart is broken 1 



WORKS OP BURNS. 



HOW CRUEL ARE THE 
PARENTS. 

TUNE— "JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.' 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize. 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice. 
Meanwhile the hapless da.ughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate. 

Becomes a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing. 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinion tries ; 
Till of escape despairing. 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer. 

And drops beneath his feet. 



MARK YONDER POMP. 



TUNB— "DEIL TAK THE WARS." 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 
Round the wealthy, titled bride ; 
But when compar'd with real pass' 
Poor is all that princely pnde. 
What are the showy treasures ? 
What are the noisy pleasures? 
rhe gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art : 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the wond'ring gaze. 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy may delight, 
But never, never can come near the 
heart. 
But did you see mv dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity s array ; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening 
flower is. 
Shrinking from the gaze of day ! 
O then, 3ie heart alarming. 
And all resistless charming. 
In Love's delightful fetters she chains 
the willing soul ! 
Ambition would disown 
T^e world's imperial crown ; 



Even Avarice would deny 
His worshipp'd deity. 
And feel thro' every vein Love's ra|^ 
tures roll. 



I SEE A FORM, I SEE A FACE. 

TUNE—" THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE.* 

O THIS is no my ain lassie. 

Fair tho' the lassie be ;_ 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e'e. 
I see a form, I see a face. 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kmd love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and 

taU, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And aye it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 
A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg ^ as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e, 
O this is no, &c. 
It may escape the courtly sparks. 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 



O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY 
BRIER, 



O BONNIE was yon rosy brier. 
That blooms sae far frae 1 



And boimie she, and ah, how dear 
It shaded frae the e'enin* sun. 



Quick. 



" Evening. 



ton rosebuds in the murmng dew. 
How pure amang the leaves sae 
green- 
But pure! was the lovers' vow 
They witness'd in their shade yes- 
treen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 
That crimson rose, how sweet and 
fair! 

Sat love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid Ufe's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling bum, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world nor wish, nor scorn. 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



FORLORN, MY LOVE. 



TUNE — " LET MH IN THIS AE NIGHT." 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 



O wert thou, love, but near me. 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
And mingle sighs with mine, love. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and 

joy; 

And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part. 

To poison fortune's ruthless daj:t — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

O wert, &c. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleeV, 
let me think we yet shall meet ! 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love 
O wert, &c. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

TUNE — "the LOTHIAN LASSIE." 

Last May a braw wooer cam down 
the lang glen. 
And sair wi' his love he did deavw 
me; 
I said there was naething I hated like 
men. 
The deuce gae wi'm to beUeve me, 

believe me. 
The deuce gae wi'm to beUeve me. 
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black 
een. 
And vo Vd for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked for 
Jean : 
The Lord forgie me for lying, foi 

lying. 
The Lord forgie me for lying ! 
A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the 
laird. 
And marriage afif-hand, were his 
proffers : 
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or 
car'd ; 
But thought I might hae waur offers, 

waur offers. 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 
But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight 
or less. 
The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 
He up thelang loan to my black cousin 
Bess, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 

her, could bear her. 
Guess ye how, the jad 1 I could bear 
her. 
But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' 
care, 
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgamodc,' 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was 
there ! 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a 

warlock, 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 



' Dalgamock is the name of a ro- 
mantic spot near the Nith, where art 
still a ruined chiu-ch and a burial* 
i^ound. — R. B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But owre my left shouther I gae him a 

blink, 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in 

drink. 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear 

lassie, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and 
sweet. 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin. 
And how her new shoon fit her auld 
shachl't'feet— 
But Heavens ! how he fell a swearin. 



He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his 

wife. 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: 

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, 

to-morrow ; 
I think I matm wed him to-morrow. 



HEY FOR A LASS WI'A TOCHER. 

TUNK— "bAUNAMONA ORA." 

AwA wi' yoiu: witchcraft o' beauty's 

alarms. 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in 

your arms: 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' 

charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit 

farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, then 
hey, for a lass wi' a tocher. 

Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher ; the 
nice yellow guineas for me. 

Ifour beauty's a flower in the morning 

that blows, 
Aad withers the faster, the faster it 

grows; 



Twisted. 



But the rapturous charm o' the bonnle 

green knowes. 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnia 
white yowes. 
Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty yotir 

has blest. 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, v 

But the sweet yellow darlings 

Geordie imprest. 
The langer ye hae diem— the ; 

the3r're carest. 
Then hey, &c. 



ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER 
BE MINE. 



CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 

Thou art as sweet as the smile when 

fond lovers meet. 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy!' 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing. 
Than aught in the world beside—" 
Jessy ! 
Here's a health, &c. 

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, 

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms 
But welcome the dream o' sweet slum 
ber. 
For then I am lockt in thy arms- 
Jessy ! 
Here's a health, &c. 

I guess by the dear angel snuie, 
I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 

But why urge the tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decrees 



Jessy ! 
Here's a health, &c 



' Mfss Jessy Lewars. 



THE eiRKS' OF ABERFELDY. 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go. 

To tlie Birks of Aberfeldy ? 

Now siirjner blinks on flowery braes. 

And e'er the crystal streamlet plays. 

Come let us spend the lightsome days 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
While o'er their heads the hazels hing. 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
C^ lightly flit on wanton wing 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
The braes ascend like lofty wa's. 
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, 
O'er-himg wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 

The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers. 
White o'er the linns the bumie pours. 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 

The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Let fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me. 
Supremely blest wi' love arid thee. 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go. 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy? 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND 
ROVER. 

TUNE— " MORAG." 

i^VD blaw the frosty breezes. 
The snaws the mountains cover ; 

like winter on me seizes, 
Since my young Highland Rover 
Far wanders nations over. 

Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 
May heaven hi his warden ; 

Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 

yhe trees now naked groaning. 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging ; 



7S. ifl« 

The birdies dowie moaning. 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 
And everjr flower be springing. 

Sae I'll rejoice the lee-langday. 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's retum'd to fair Strathspej 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 



STAY, MY CHARMER. 

TUNE—" AN GILLE DUBH CIAR DHUBII " 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave mc I 
Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 
Well you know how much you griev* 
me ; 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 
By my love so ill requited ; 
By the faith you fondly plighted ; 
By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



_' Near Moness, in Perthshire. The 
birch-trees w;re there very abundant. 



FULL WELL THOU KNOWST." 

TUNE — "rOTHIEMURCHE's RANT." 



Fairest maid on Devon banks. 

Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
Wilt thou lay that frown aside. 
And smile as thou were wont to dot 
Full well thou know'st I love thee dear; 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear 1 
O, did not Love exclaim, " Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so ?" 
Fairest maid, &c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear. 
No love but thine my heart shall k now. 
Fairest maid, &c. 

' This is supposed to be the last song 
written by Bums. " I tried my hand 
on ' Rotliiemurche ' this morning. Tha 
measure is so difficult, that it is impos- 
sible to infuse much genius into tha 
lines."— R.B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT/ 

Thickest night,o'erhangmy dwelling ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing. 
Busy haunts of base mankind. 

Western breezes softly blowing. 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engaged. 
Wrongs injurious to redress. 

Honour's war we strongly waged. 
But the Heavens demed success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us. 
Not a hope that dare attend ; 

The wide world is all before us — 
But a world without a friend ! 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
BLOWING.'' 



Raving winds aroimd her blowing, 
Vellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stra/d deploring : 
" Farewell, hours, that late did mea- 
sure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow. 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering. 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes. 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Xx>ad to misery most distressing, 
O, how gladly I'd resign thee, 
4nd to dark oblivion join thee !" 

* Lord Strathallan, bewailing his for- 
lorn state after the defeat of CuUoden. 

* Miss Isabella M'Leod, who had 
o«J a sister and a brother-in-law. 



MUSING ON THE ROARINO 
OCEAN. 

TUNE—" DRUIMION DUBH." 

Musing on the roaring ocean 

Which divides my love and me _; 
Wearying Heaven in warm devotMBi 

For hk weal where'er he be. 
Hojje and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding late to nature's law, 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pUlow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 
Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubl'd, joy-surrounded. 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 
Gentle night, do thou befriend me J 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me, 

Talk of him that's far awa ! 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 



Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 

Blithe was she but and ben : 
Blithe by the banks of Em, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 
By Ochtertyre grows the aik. 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw 
But Phemie ^ was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, &c. 

Her looks were Uke a flower in May^ 

Her smile was like a simmer mom 
She tripped by the banks of Em, 

As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, &c. 
Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As onie lamb's upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 



Miss Euphenia Murray. 



I he Highland hi .Is I've wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blithest Isiss 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, &c 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.' 



Where, braving angry winter's storms. 

The lofty Ochils rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who, by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish' d, doubly marks its beam 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first svurvey'd. 

When first I felt their poVr 1 
The tyrant Death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE LAZY MIST. 

IRISH AIR — "COOLUN." 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 
the hill, 

Concealing the course of the dark- 
winding rill ; 

How languid the scenes, late so spright- 
ly, appear. 

As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale 
year ! 

Ihe forests are leafless, the meadows 
are brown, 

Affld all the gay foppery of Summer is 
flown : 

Apart let me wander, apart let me 
muse. 

How quick Time is flying, how keen 
rate pursues ; 

* Miss Margaret Chalmers. 



How long I have lived, but how tanch 

lived in vain : 
How little of life's scanty span may 

remain: 
What aspects old Time, in his ppo» 

gress, has worn ; 
What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has 

torn. 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit 

is gain'd ! 
And downward, how weaken'd, how 

darken'd, how pain'd ! 
This life's not worth having with all it 

can give. 
For something beyond it poor man suw 

must Uve. 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY 
WALK. 

TUNE — " THE shepherd's WIFE." 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,* 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. 

All on a dewy morning. 
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fledf 
In a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head. 

It scents the early morning. 
Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 
She soon shall see her tender brood. 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh g^een leaves bedeVdj 

Awake the early morning. 
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany' fair, 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tents thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and g»J 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch'd thy early i 



'Bank. 
Miss Jenny Cruil 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



riBBlK 1 HAE SEEN THE DAY.' 

TUNR— " INVERCAULD's REEL." 



O Tibbie, I hae seen the day. 
Ye would na been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye hghtly^ me. 
But trowth, I care na by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor. 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure : 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think. 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink. 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 

Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 

Wha follows onie saucy quean 

That looks sae proud and high. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart. 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt. 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear 
Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice. 
Your daddy^s gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
Were ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

iliere lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na g^e her in her sark. 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye need na look sae high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

' Bums wa-s about seventeen years 
•Id when he c-omposed these rhymes. 
' Despis«> 



I LOVE MY J^AN.' 

TUNE — "miss admiral UORBON^ 
STRATHSPEY." 

Of a' the airts ^ the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, _ 
For there the bonnie lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'e best ; 
There wild woods grow, and rivers rcn 

And monie a hill between ; 
By day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 
I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that spring 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' 
HILL. 



TUNE- 



MY LOVE IS LOST TO M». 



O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill. 
Or had of Helicon my fill. 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I love thee ! 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well. 
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel ; 
On Corsincon3 I'll glow'r and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coud na sing, I coud na say. 

How much, how dear I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waistsaejimp,* thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish een— 

By Heaven and earth I love thee ! 



' Written "out of compliment t« 
Mrs. Bums." 
* Points of the compass. 
3 A hiU near EUisland. ^ Slender 



>y nij,iit, by day, a-fijtd, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
And aye I muse and sing thy name, 

I only live to lore thee. 
Tho' I were doom'd to wander oa 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY.' 

TURK— " SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER." 

1 HE day returns, my bosom bums. 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd. 

Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and 
globes ;— 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee 



While day and night can bring delight. 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above my mind can move, — 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my 
heart. 



IHE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

lUNE— "miss FORBES's FAREWELL TO 
BANFF." 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 
The flowers deca^d on Catrine lea, 

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green. 
But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 

'' The Poet declared Robert Riddel 
and his wife to be " one of the hap- 
(aest and worthiest married couples m 
the world." These stanzas were com- 
posed for the anniversary of their wed^ 
ding-day. 



Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyl^ 
And aye the wild wood echoes rang. 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochrayle. 
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 

Again ye'U flourish fresh and fair; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowels, 

Again ye'U charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballocll' 
myle. 



THE HAPPY TRIO.* 

TUNE— " WILLIS BREW'd A PECK o' 
MAUT." 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut. 
And Rob and Allan came to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang" 
night. 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 



We are na fou, we're no that fou. 
But just a drappie in our e'e ; 

,The cock may craw, the day may davr, 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys. 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 

And monie a night we've merry been. 
And monie mae we hope to be ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

It is the moon, I ken hei horn, 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie : 



' This air is Masterson's ; the song 
mine. The occasion of it was this. 
Mr. William Nicol, of the High School 
of Edinburgh, during the Autumn 
vacation, being at Moffat, honest Allan, 
who was at that time on a visit to 
Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol 
a visit. We had such a j oyous meeting, 
that Mr. Masterson and I agreed, 
each in our own way, that -^e Siou]< 
celebrate the busiiiesj — R B. 

* Live-long. 



wojftKTS or BURirS. 



She shines sae bright to vvyle us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee i 
We are na fou, &c. 
Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
He is the king amang us three ! 
We are na fou, &c. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.' 

I GAED a' waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I ^t my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
Twas not her golden ringlets bright. 

Her lips like roses wet wi' dew. 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white ; — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she 
wyl'd. 

She charm'd my soul I wist nahow ; 
And aye the Stound,^ the deadly wound. 

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 

But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
ihould she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 
Vour locks were like the raven. 

Your bonnie brow was brent •? 
But now yoiu- brow is held, John^ 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

Jf«hn Anderson, my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither ; 



* Jean JefiFry, daughter of the min- 
uter of Lochmaben. 
■ Pang. 3 High and smooth. 



And monie a canty day, Jolw, 
We've had wi' ane onither ; 

Now we maun totter down, Johl^ 
But hand in hand we'll go. 

And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson, my jo. 



TAM GLEN. 

TUNE — "the mucking O' GEORDHT'I 
BYRE." 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len'. 

To anger them a' is a pity ; 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow. 
In poortith^ I might mak a fen';^ 

What care I in riches to wallow. 
If I maunna marry Tam Glen 1 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 
" Guid-day to you, brute ! " he comet 
ben: 
He brags and he blaws o' his siller ; 
But when will he dance like Tan 
Glen? 

My minnie does constantly deave^me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen I 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten ; 

But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten :* 

For thrice I drew ane without failing 
And thrice it was written, Tam Glea. 

The last Halloween I was waukin S 
My droukitfi sark-sleeve, as ye ken' 

His likeness cam up the house staukin— 
And the very grey breeks o' Taw 
Glen! 



' Poverty. ' Make a shift. ^ Deafen 
4 Leap. S Watotiing. 6 Wet. 



Deaete counsel, deai Tittie, don't tarry ; 

I'll gie you my boimie black hen, 
Gif you will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly Tarn Glen. 



GANE IS THE DAY. 



Bane is the day, and mirk's the night. 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute^ o' light. 
For ale and brandys stars and moon. 
And bluid-red wine's the risin sun. 

CHORUS. 

Then guidwife count the lawin," the 

lawin, the lawin. 
Then guidwife coimt the lawin, and 

bring a coggie main 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen. 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen'. 
But here we're a' in ae accord. 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

Then guidwife count, &c. 
My coggie is a haly pool,3 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 

Then guidwife count, &c. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE 
DO Wr AN AULD MAN ? 

TUNE — "what can A LASSIB DO." 

What can a young lassie, what shall a 
young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an 
auld man ? 
Bad luck on the penny that tempted 
my mincie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' 

Bad luck on the penny, &c. 
Vault. ' Retkonins. 3 Holy w«ll. 



M. in 

He's always compleenin frae moiiiin t4 
e'enin. 
He hosts and he hirples ' the weary 
day lang : 
He's doylt^ and he's dozin, his bluid it 
is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy 
auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets sjtd 
he cankers, 
I never can please him do a' that I 
can; 
He's peevish, and jealous of a' the 
young fellows : 
O, dool 3 on the day I met wi' an auld 
man! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes 
pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her 
plan ; 
I'll cross him, and rack him, until I 
heart-break him. 
And then his auld brass will buy m« 
a new pan. 



O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, 
TAM! 

TUNB — " THB MOUDIEWORT," 
CHORUS. 

An' O for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twentj, 
Tam! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang. 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They snooH me sair, and hand nM 
down. 
And gar me look like bluntie,9Tam 
But three short years will soon wlkd 
roim'. 
And then comes ane-and- twenty, 
Tam. 
And O for ane, &c. 

' Coughs and hobbles. ' ^ Stti;Mi» 
3 Sorrow. 4 Oppress. 

* ■Snivelling. 



WORKS OF BXrANS 



A gleib o' Ian',' a claut o' gear. 

Was left me by my avmtie. Tarn; 
A-t kith or kin I need na spier. 
An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tarn. 
An' O for ane, &c. 
rhey'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,^ 

Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my 
loof,3— 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
An' O for ane, &c. 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

rUNE — " THE LADS OF SALTCOATS." 

BONNIK wee thing, cannie wee thing. 
Lovely wee tiling, wast thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

WbtfuUy I look and languish 

In that bonnie face of thine ; 
And my heart it stounds ** wi' anguish. 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 
Wit; and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty. 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee, &c. 



;the banks of nith. 

TUNB— " ROBIE DONNA GORACH." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me, 

WTiere Cummins ance had high com- 
mand: 
When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I loved so dear ? 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 



How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful »Td»Tj 
Where spreading hawthomi gailj 
bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 
Where lambkins wanton thro' tU 
broom ! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my 
doom, 
Far from thy bonnie banks and bra«^ 
May there my latest hour consume, 
Araang the friends of early days ! 



A portion of ground. 
3 Hand. 



Blockhead. 
* Throbs. 



BESSY AND HER SPINN[N 
WHEEL. 

O LEEZE ^ me on my spinnin wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,* 
And haps 3 me fieH and warm at e'ea I 
I'll set me down and sing and spin. 
While laigh 5 descends the simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal— 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot. 
And meet below my theekit^ cot ; _ 
The scented birk and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite. 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest. 
And little fishes caller 1 rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the bid*,* 
Where blithe I turn my spinnin wheeL 

On lofty aiks ^ the cushats wail. 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik ^° amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick ^' whirrin o'er the ley. 
The swallow jinkin ^^^ roimd my smel,'' 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 



'^ A phrase of endearment : " I an 
proud of thee." 

* That abundantly clothes me. 
3 Wraps. ■♦ Soft. S Low. 

6 Thatched. 1 Sound. 8 No«k. 
9 Oaks. '° The corn-rail. 

" Partridge- " Dodging. '3 Shed 



Wi' sn» to sell, and less to buy, 

Aboon distress, below envy, 

O wha wad leave this humble state. 

For a' the pride of a' the great ? 

Amid their flarin, idle toys, 

Ajnid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 

Can they the peace and pleasure feel 

Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ? 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 

TUNE — " JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW." 

In simmer, when the hay w;as mawn. 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; ' 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel. 

Says, " I'll be wed, come o't what 
will ;" 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,— 

" O' guid advisement comes nae ill : 

" It's ye hae wooers monie ane. 

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale * 

A routhie but, a routhie ben : 3 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; ■* 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire." S 

" For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,^ 

He has nae luve to spare for me ; 
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e. 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 
" O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ; 7 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
Bat aj'e fu' han't is fechtin^ best, 

An hungry care's an unco care : 



' Sunny nook of a wood. 

' Choose. 

3 A plentiful kitchen and parlour. 

* Sheep-pen. 5 Adds fuel to fire. 

6 Crops and cows. 

» Fighi. 8 Fighting. 



But some will spend, and some wiB 
spare, 
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will , 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 
Keep mind that ye maun drink the 
yill." ^ 

" O, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep and 
kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome^ hive 

The gowd and siller canna buy : 
We may be poor — Robie and I, — 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a 
throne?" 



FAIR ELIZA- 



TuRN again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew 3 on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart t 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 
Thee, dear maid, hae I offended f 

The offence is loving thee ; 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die 1 
While the life beats in my bosom. 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 
Not the bee upon the blossom. 

In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy. 

All beneath the simmer moou , 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his e'e. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the raptuie, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



'Ale. 

3 i-ook tenderly. 



WORKS OF BljRNS. 



SHE'S FAIR AND PAUSE, 

She's fair and fause that catises my 
smart, 

I lo'ed her a eikle and lang ; 
She's broken hei vow, she's broken my 
heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof came in wi' rowth o' gear,' 
And I hae tint ^ my dearest dear. 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 
Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 3 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O Woman lovely, Woman fan ! 
An Angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
Twad been o'er meikle to've gien thee 
mair, 

T mean an Angel mind. 



THE POSIE. 



O LUVB will venture in, where it danr 

na weel be seen, 
O luve will venture in, where wisdom 

ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang 

the wood sae green, — 
And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear 

May. 
The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' 

the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' 

my dear, 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and 

blooms without a peer ; — _ 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear 

May. 

m pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus 

peeps in view. 
For it's hke a baumy kiss o her sweet 

bonnie mou ; 



' A blockhead came with plenty of 
trealth. 
' Lxit, 3 No wonder. 



The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' iW 
unchanging blue. 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain deal 
May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place tli* 

lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and vue 

affected air. 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain deal 

May. 
The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' 

siller gray. 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at 

break o' day. 
But the songster's nest within the bush 

I winna tak away ; — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain deat 

May. 
The woodbine I will pu' when the e'en- 

ing star is near, 
And the diamond drops o' dew shall ba 

her een sae clear : 
The violet's for modesty which weel she 

fa's to wear, — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear 

May. 
I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken 

band o' luve. 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'U 

swear by a' above. 
That to my latest draught o' life, tho 

band shall ne'er remuve,— 
And this will be a Posie to my ain 

dear May. 



THE BANKS O' DOON.' 

TUNK— "the CALEDONIAN HUNT'» 
DELIGHT." 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Dooij,_ 
How cam ye bloom sae fresh and fair ■ 

' We have this song in an ea'lier asA 
simpler form, as the writer sent it to 
Mr. Ballantine : Mr. Cunningham, o» 
the authority of an Ayrshire legend 
discovers the heroine of tbe song it 



How can ye chait ye little birds. 

An' I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 
Fhou'li break ray heart, thou warbling 
bird, 
That wantons thro' the flowering 
thorn : 
rhou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed — never to return. 

Tbou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Wt hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 
To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 

And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 
And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wr Ughtsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 

And my fause luver stole my rose, 
But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, who 
broke her heart for one M'Dougall, of 
Logan : 

Ve flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye blume sae fair ! 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae fu' o' care. 

Thou'U break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird. 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days. 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou'U break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird. 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine. 

And ilka bird sang o' its love. 
And sae did I o' mine. 

WV lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae off its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rosci 

But left tl c thorn wi' me. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER.' 

TUNB — "wandering WILLyE." 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 
December ! 
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and 

Sad was the parting thou makes mo 
remember. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet 
mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful 
pleasure, 
Hope beaming mild on the soft part- 
ing hour ; 
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever ! 
Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 
Wild as the winter now tearing th« 
forest. 
Till the last leaf o' the summer is 
flown. 
Such is the tempest has taken iiiy 
bosom, 
Since my last hope and comfort is 
gone. 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy De- 
cember, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and 
care. 
For sad was the parting thou makes me 
remember. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meel 
mair. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

TUNE — " ORAN-GAOIL." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 

Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart ! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part I 
I'll often greet this surging swell ; 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

Thire latest raark'd her vanish'd sail." 
.Mong the solitary shore. 

While flitting sea-fowU round me cry, 

' On parting from Clarinda. 



IFOKICS OF BURNS. 



A.cross the rollUig, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 

" Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say, 

"Where now my Nancy's path may 

be! 

While thro' thy sweets she loves to 

stray, 

O, tel' tne- does she muse on me?" 



WILLIE'S -WIFE.' 



Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie, 
Willie was a wabster^ ^id, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie ; 
He had a wife was dour and din,3 

Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither ; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 
She has an e'e, she has but ane. 

The cat has twa the very colour ; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave'' a miller ; 
A whiskm beard about her mou, _ 

Her nose and chin theythreaten ither ; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 
She's bow-hough'd, 5 she's hein-shinn'd, 

Ae limpin leg, a hand-breed ^ shorter ; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouther ; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 
Auld baudrons^ by the ingle sits. 

An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; 
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,8 

She dightsS her grunzie'° wi' a. 
hushion ; " 

' Willie's wife is said to have been 
the wife of a farmer near EUisland. 
' Weaver. 3 Sullen and sallow. 

* Deafen. 

S Out-kneed. « Hand's-breadth. 
' Cat. 8 N»at. 9 Wipes. 

"» Mouth. " Cushion. 



Her walie nieves ' like midden-creels 
Her face wad fyle ^ ths Logan-wattt 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her 



AFTON WATER.< 



Flow gently, sweet Afton, among Aj 

green braes. 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song a 

thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 

stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds 
thro' the glen. 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yoa 
thorny den, 

Thou green-crested lapwing, thy 
screaming forbear, 

I charge you disturb not my slumber- 
ing fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbours 

ing hills. 
Far mark'd with the courses of cleai, 

winding rills. 
There daily I wander as noon rit;* 

high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet W: in 

my eye. 
How pleasant thy banks and green 

valleys below. 
Where wild in the woodlands the pnui* 

roses blow ; 
There oft as mild eVning weeps o»^:» 

the lea. 
The sweet-scented birk shades uiy 

Mary and me. 
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely 

it glides. 
And winds by the cot where my Mary 

resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy fee* 

lave. 
As gathering sweet flow'rets she sterol 

thy clear wave. 

• Big fists. ' Dung-baskets. 3 Sml 
^ 4fton, a stream in Ayrshire. 



flow eently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes. 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of 

my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 

stream, 
Ftow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

her dream. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY 
THEE. 



Louis, what reck I by thee. 
Or Geordie on his ocean 1 

Dyvor, beggar loons to me, 
I reign in Jeanie's* bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law. 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

Kings and nations, swith awa ! ^ 
Reif randies,^ I disown ye ! 



BONNIE BELL. 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly Winter grimly flies : 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters. 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth 
the morning, 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Sum- 
mer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 
I'hiis seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes 
tell; 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

J adore my bonnie Bell. 



' Mrs. Burns. ' Get away, 

3 Sturdy beggars. 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOME- 
BODY. 

TUNK — "the highland WATCH'S 
FAREWELL." 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell. 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 

I could wake a winter night, 

For the sake o' somebody. 

Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 

Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 

I could- range the world around. 

For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous loT«, 

O sweetly smile on somebody I 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody I 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody I 



O MAY, THY MORN. 

O May, thy mom was ne'er sae sweel 
As the mirk night o' December, 

For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name. 
But I will aye remember. 
And dear, &c. 

And here's to them that, like oursel. 
Can push about the jorum ; 

And here's to them that wish us weel ;— ■ 
May a' that's guid watch o'er them j 

And here's to them we dare na tell. 
The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, &c. 



THE LOVELY LASS OF 
INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 

For e'en and morn she cries, alas I 
And aye the saut tear blins her t* 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Drumossie Moor, Drumossie day,' 
A waefu' day it was to me ; 

For there I lost my father dear. 
My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the hluidy clay. 

Their graves are growing green to 
see; 
\nd by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mooie a heart thou hast made sair. 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

TUNE — "WISHAW'S FAVOURITE," 

O, MY luve's like a red, red rose 
That's newly sprung in June : 

O, my luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly plaj^d in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass. 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

I will luve thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 



O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON 
TOWN? 



O, WAT ye wha's in yon town. 
Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 



' The battle of CuUoden, on Dm- 
bossie Moot. I 



The fairest dame's ' in yon town. 
That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay grecB 
■ shaw. 
She wanders by yon spreading tree ; 
How blest, ye flow'rs that round bei 
blaw. 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

How blest, ye birds that roimd hef 
sing, 

And welcome in the blooming year' 
And doubly welcome be the spring. 

The season to my Lucy dear ! 

The sun blinks bhthe on yon towE 
And on yon bounie braes of Ay; , 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 

And she a lovely little flower. 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

O, sweet is she in yon town. 
Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon ; 

A fairer than's in yon town, 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe. 
And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; 

I careless quit aught else below. 
But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne' er de- 
part, 

And she — as fairest is her form, — 
She has the truest, kindest heart." 



' Mrs. Oswald, of Auchincruive, 
whose beauty and accomplishmenu 
so dazzled Burns, that he resolved tc 
"say nothing at all "about her, "in 
despair of saying anything adequate.' 

* These lines are in the form of as 
address from the husband to his wife. 



A VIoION. 

'CUMNOCK PSALMS.' 



^ I Stood by yon roofless tower,' 
Where the wa'-flower scents the 
dewy air. 
Where the howlet mourns in ho^ ivy 
bower. 
And tells the midnight mooh her 
care ; 

1 he winds were laid, the a-r was ttill. 
The stars they shot alang the sVy ; 

The fox was howling on the hill. 
And the distant-echoing glens -eply. 

The stream, adown its haz'Uy ppth. 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa'. 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
Whase distant roarings swell and fa*. 

The cauld blue north was streaming 
forth 

Her hghts, wi' hissing, eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift. 

Like fortune's favours, tint as vnn. 

By heedless chance I tum'd mine eyes. 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 

A stem and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to oe. 

Had I a statue been o' stane. 
His darin look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet graVd was plain 
The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow. 
Might rouse the slumbering dead to 
hear; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' Joy his former day. 

He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play ; 
I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 



' The tower belonged to the ruins 
of Lincluden Abbey, near Dumfries 
R most poetical scene, and often visited 
by Bums. 



i8^ 



O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD 
BLAST. 

TUNE—" THE LASS OF LIVINGSTONE." 

O, WHRT thou in the cauld blast. 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My pladdie to the angry airt,' 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. 
'Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw. 
Thy bield should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste. 

Of earth and air, of earth and air, 
The desert were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. 
The only jewel in my crown. 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queea 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.' 



Nab gentle dames, tho' e'er sa* fair. 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 



Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine. 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
1 bear my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 



' Quarter of the sky. 
_ " Mary Campbell, my Highland las- 
sie, was a warm-hearted, charming 
young creatiu-e as ever blessed a maa 
with generous love. — R. B. 



t84 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

ftJtho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change. 
For her bosom biums with honovff's 

glow. 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar. 
For her I'll dare the distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within thy glen, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand. 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O I 
To other lands I now must go. 
To sing my Highland lassie, O I 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PART- 
ING KISS. 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss. 
O'er the moimtains he is gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss. 
Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 

Sound and safely may he sleep. 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be 1 

He will think on her he loves. 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.* 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's iain4 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair. 
Her native grace so void of art ; 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway. 
Who but knows they all decay J 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
The generous purpose, nobly dear. 
The gentle look that rage disarms,— 
These are all immortal charms. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLST. 



Up in the morning's no for me, 
Up in the mommg early ; 

When a' the hills are covei'd wi' snaw, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae ea^ to 
west. 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering' in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely ; 

And lang's the night frae e'en to mem, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
Up in the morning, &c. 



THO' CRUEL FATE. 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part. 

As far's the pole and line ; 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 

' Peggy was Miss Margaret Ch«*' 
mers. 
' Shiveriap. 



rho* mountains frown and deserts howl. 

And oceans roar between ; 
ITet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean, 



I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE 
FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING.' 

I dream'd I lay where fi"wers were 
_ springing 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing. 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring: 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; 
Trees with aged arms were warring, 

O'er the swelling, drumlie ^ wave. 
Such was my life's deceitful morning. 

Such the pleasures I enjo^d ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests, storm- 
ing, 

A' my flowery bliss destroyed. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceived me. 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but 

ai. 

Of monie a joy and hope bereaVd me, 
T bear a heart shall support me still. 



BONNIE ANN.3 

Ve gallants bright, I rede 4 you right. 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace. 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae_ bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimplyS lac'd her genty^ waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 
Vouth, grace, and love, attendant move. 

And pleasure leads the van ; 



' Written in the poet's eighteenth 
year. 

' Muddy. 

3 Ann Masterton, the daughter of a 
iiend of Bums. 

■♦Counsel. 5 Slenderly. 

* Elegant. 



QS. its 

In a' their charms, and conquering arms. 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands. 

But love enslaves the man : 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a'. 

Beware o' bonnie Ann. 



MY BONNIE MARY. 
Go fetch to me a pint o' win^ 

An' fill it in a silver tassie r 
That I may drink, before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae tha 
ferry ; 
The ship ndes by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
The trumpets sound, the baimers fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked 
ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad mak me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar, — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH- 
LANDS," 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heatt 

is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing 

_ the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following 

the roe, — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I 

go- 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to 

the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country 

of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I 

love. 

^ Measure. 

^ The first half stanza of this song u 
old, the rest is mine. — R. B, 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Farewell to the mountains high cover'd 
with snow ; 

Farewell to the straths and green 
valleys below ; 

Farewell to the forests and wild-hang- 
ing woods ; 

Farewell to the torrents and loud-pour- 
ing floods. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
is not here. 

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing 
the deer ; 

Chasing the wild deer, and following 
the roe, — 

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever 
I go. 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS 
CITY. 

TUNB— "NEIL cow's LAMENT." 

There's a youth in this city, it were a 
great pity, 
That he from oiu- lasses should wan- 
der awa ; 
For he's bonnie and braw, weel-favour'd 
witha'. 
And his hair has a natural buckle 
and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae 
blue; 
His fecket' is white as the new- 
driven snaw ; 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon 
like the slae, _ 
And his clear siller buckles they 
dazzle us a'. 
His coat is the hue, &c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's 
been courtin ; 
Weel-featm:'d, weel-tocher'd, weel- 
mounted and braw ; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him 
gang till her. 
The pennie's the j e wel that beautifies 



' An under waistcoat having sleeves. 



There's Meg wi' the maflin, that ttik 
wad a haen him. 
And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' 
the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maiat 
fetters his fancy, 
— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'e* 
dearest of a'. 



THE RANTIN DOG THE 
DADDIE O'T.' 

TUNE— "east nook O' FIFE." 

O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? 
Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
Wha will own he did the faut 1 
Wha will buy my groanin maut ? 
Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
When I mount the creepie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair. 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain ? * 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE 
FAIR. 

I DO confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs 3 in luve; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer. 
That lips could speak, thy heart coidd 



* I composed this song pretty early 
in life, and sent it to a young girl, a 
very particular acquaintance of mine, 
who was at the time under a cloud.— 
R. B. The "yotmg girl" was Elii* 
beth Paton. 

» Tickled with pleasure. 

3 Ears. 



I do onfess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 

Thy favours are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

Bee yonder rose-bud rich in dew, 
Amang its native briers sae coy. 

How soon it tines its scent aad hue. 
When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide ; 

Though thou may gaily bloom awhile, 
Vet soon thou shalt be thrown aside. 
Like ony common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUN- 
TAINS. 

Yon wild mossy mountains, sae lofty 

and wide. 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' 

the Qyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys 

thro' the heather to feed. 
And the shepherd tents his flock, as he 

pipes on his reed : 
Where the grouse, &c. 

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's 

sunny shores. 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild 

mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd, 

clear stream, _ 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and 

my dream. 

Amang the wild mountains shall still 

be my path. 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green 

narrow strath ; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang 

While o'er us, unheeded, fly the swift 
hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is 

fair; 
O' nice education but sma' is her 

share; 
Her parentage humble as humble can 

be; 
6bt I lo'e the dear lasaie, because she 

lo'es me. 



7S. i8» 

To beauty what mail but inaun yieM 

him a prize. 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, 

and sighs ? 
And when wit and refinement hae pol- 

ish'd her darts. 
They dazile our een, as they fly to our 

hearts. 
But kindness, sweet kindness, in the 

fond sparkling e'e, 
Has lustre out-shining the diamond to 

me; 
And the heart beating love, as I'» 

clasp'd in her arms, — 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering 

charms! 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER 
DOOR? 

Wha is that at my bower door i 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be her« 1 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What raak ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye'U work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
Gif I rise and let you in ; 

Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye'U keep me waukin' wi' your din ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ; 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye'U bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
Here this night if ye remain ; 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay ; 
I dread ye'U learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower- 
Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hoiu- ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S 



Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green. 
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring ■ 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



By Girvan s fairy-haunted stream 
The birdies flit on wanton wing. 

To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's. 
There wi' my Mary let me flee, 

There catch her ilka glance o' love. 
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth, 

Is often laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain, — 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 



FAREWELL TO NANCY.' 

Ak fond kiss, and then we sever 1 

Ae fareweel, alas, for ever 1 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 

theel 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 

thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves lum. 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly. 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly. 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted ! 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure. 
Ae fond lus^ and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wmng tears I'll pledge 

thee. 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 

thee. 



' Supposed to have been addressed 
(oCSarinda. 



THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S 
FAR AWA. 



O HOW can I be blithe and glad. 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw. 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

It's no the frosty winter \«dnd, 

It's no the driving drift and snaw ; 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e. 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door, 
My friends they hae disown'd me a' i 

But I hae ane will take my part. 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gae to me. 

And silken snoods ' he gae me twa ; 
And I will wear them for his sake. 

The bonnie lad that's far awa. 
The weary winter soon wiU pass, 

And spring will cleed^ the birken- 
shaw; 
And my sweet babie will be bom. 

And he'll come hame that's far awa. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF 

ANNA. 

TUNE—" BANKS OF BANNA." 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness. 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 
Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grssp 

The melting form of Anna. 

' Ribands for binding the hair. 
» Clothfv. 



IBs 



rhere I'll d'ffspise imperial channs, 

An Empress, or Sultana, 
WTiile dying raptures in her arms, 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night. 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Anna of the gowden locks was a 
maiden of Dumfries ; and Bums thought 
BO much of this piece that he recom- 
mended it to Thomson for publication ; 
but irritated, perhaps, at his refusal, 
" wrote this additional postscript," says 
Cunningham, " in defiance of his cold- 
er-blooded critic." 

The kirk and state may join, and tell 

To do such things I maunna ; 
The kirk and state may gae to hell, 

And I'll gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine o' my ee, — 

To live bot her I canna ; 
Had I on earth but wishes three. 

The first should be my Ann a, 



OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north. 
But what is the north and its High- 
lands to me ? 
The south nor the east gie ease to my 
breast. 
The far foreign land, or the wild roll- 
ing sea. 

But look to the west when I gae to rest. 
That happy my dreams and my slum- 
bers may be ; 

For far in the west, lives he I lo'e best. 
The lad that is dear to my babie and 



BANKS OF DEVON.' 



How pleasant the banks of the cleai* 
winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and 
flowers blooming fair ! 
But the bonniest flower on the banks 
of the Devon, 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes 
of the A3t:. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing 
flower. 
In the gay rosy mom as it bathes in 
the dew ! 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal 
shower. 
That steals on the evening each leal 
to renew. 

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient 

breezes. 
With chill hoary wing as ye usher 

the dawn ! 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile 

that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden 

and lawn ! 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded 
Ulies, 
And England triumphant display her 
proud rose ; 
A fairer than either adorns the greeo 
valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, mean- 
dering flows. 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 



Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
To mark the swee> flowers as they 
spring ; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander. 
Of Phillis^ to muse and to sing. 

' Composed on Charlotte, a sister ol 
the poet's friend Gavin Hamilton. 
» Miss Phillis M'Murdo. 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, 
They never wi' her can compare ; 

Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

Hie daisy amus'd my fond fancy. 
So artless, so simple, so wild ; 

thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
For she is simplicity's child. 
Awa, &c. 

The rosebud's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the Uly, 
But fairer and purer her breast. 
Awa, &c. 

Von knot of gay flowers in the arbour. 

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
Her breath is the breath o' the wood- 
bine. 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, &c. 

Her voice is the song of the morning 
That wakes through the green- 
spreading grove. 
When Phoebus peeps over the moun- 

On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, &c. 
But beauty how frail and how fleeting. 
The bloom of a fine simimer's day ! 
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 
Awa, &c. 



THE DEIL'S AWA WI' THE 

EXCISEMAN,* 

Thb Deil cam fiddling thro' the town. 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; 

And ilka wife ayd, " Auld Mahoim, 
We wish you luck o' yom prize, man. 

' At a meeting of his brother Excise- 
tien in Diunfries, Bums, being called 
upon for a song, handed these verses 
to the president, written on the back 
»f a letter. — Cromek, 



" We'll mak our maut, and brew oia 
drink. 
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, 
man ; 
Vnd monie thanks to the muckle 
black Deil 
That danc'd awa wi' the £Kcise< 



"There's threesome reels, and loac 
some reels. 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, 
man ; 
But the ae best dance e'er cam to oni 
Ian', 
Was— The Deil's avra wi' the E» 
ciseman. 
We'll mak our maut," &c. 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON VON 
HILL. 

TUNE— " LIGGERAM COSH." 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill. 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae langer sport and play. 

Mirth or sang can please me ? 
Leslie is sae fair and coy. 

Care and anguish seize me. 
Heavy, heavy is the task. 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I do nocht but glowr. 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC 
FAIR. 

TUNE — "hUGHIK graham." 

O WERE my love yon \ilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring j 

And I a bird to shelter there. 
When wearied on my little ving : 



How I wad mourn, when it was torn 

By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
But I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthfu' May its bloom re- 
newed. 
O gin my love were yon red rose 

That grows upon the castle wa', 
And I mysel' a drap o' dew. 

Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 
Oh ! there beyond expression blest, 

I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 

Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light/ 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 

TUNE— "CAULD KAIL." 

Come, let me take thee to my breast. 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder : 
And I shall spuim as vilest dust 

The world's wealth and grandeur : 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 
Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair_o' heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



WHERE ARE THE JOYS. 

ruNB— "saw ye my father?" 

Where arethe joys I have met in the 

morning. 

That danc'd to the lark's early song? 

.Where is the peace that awaited my 

wand'rinjj. 

At evening the wild woods among ? 

' The third and fourth verses are 
jopied from Witherspoon's " Collection 
rf Scotch .Songs." 



No more a-winding the course of yon 
river. 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair: 
No more I trace the light footsteps of 
pleasure. 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 
And grim, surly winter is near? 

No, no ! the bees humming round tha 
gay roses 
Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to di* 
coyer, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 
All that has caus'd this wreck in my 
bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs ara 
immortal. 
Not hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come, then, enamour'dandfondof my 



Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



O SAW YE MY DEAR 



O SAW ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wP a 
new love. 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my de&rest, my Phely ? 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ! 

She lets thee to wit that she has thee 

forgot. 

And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou'l 

fair, 
Thou'st broken the heart o' thj 

Willy. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, 
JAMIE.' 

TUNE—" FEE HIM, FATHER." 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever ; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever ; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye^ 

I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never ! 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo. 

While my heart is breaking ; 
Soon my weary een I'll close- 
Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken ! 



MY CHLORIS. 



My Chloris, mark how green the 
groves,'' 

Tlie primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers. 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay. 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 

To shepherds, as to kings. 



* This song was written, as the author 
tells us, " hy the lee-side of a bowl of 
Vunch," which had already conquered 
every other gjuest. 

f On my visit the other day to my 
fair Chloris (that is the poetic name of 
the lovely goddess of my inspiration) 
she suggested an idea, which I, on my 
return from the visit, wrought into the 
following song. — To Mr. Thamson, 
Kov. 1794. 



Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed. 

Blithe in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 
Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 

But are their hearts as light as ours 
Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen. 
In shepherd's phrase will woo : 

The courtier tells a finer tale ; — 
But is his heart as true ? 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd. \» 
deck 
That spotless breast of thine : 

The courtiers' gems may witness love- 
But 'tis na love hke mine. 



CHARMING MONTH OF MAY. 



TUNE—" DAINTY DAVIE." 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and 

gay. 
One mormng, by the break of day. 
The youthful, charming Chloe ; 

From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 



Lovely was she by the dawn. 
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people you might see 
Perch'd all around on every tree. 
In notes of sweetest melody 
They hail the charming Chloe ; 



' " Cut down," to adopt the phra*« 
of Bums, from a song: in Ramsay* 
" Tea-Table Miscellany ," 



SO^GS. 



nn, painting gay the eastern skies, 
rite glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-n^l'd by the radiant eyes 
Ofyouthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, &c. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COM- 
PLAIN. 

TUNK— " DUNCAN GRAY." 

Lkt not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain. 

Fickle man is apt to rove : 
Look abroa I through Nature's range, 
Natm-e's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 

Man should then a monster prove ? 
Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Siin and moon but set to rise ; 

Round and round the seasons go. 
Why then ask of silly man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can — 

You can be no more, you know. 



' THE sow's TAIL.' 



O Philly, happy be that day 
When, roving through the gather'd hay. 
My youthfu' heart was stown away. 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 



O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love. 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers, 
above 
To be my ain dear WUly. 

* lliese verses were composed in a 
vorning walk, "through a keen-blow* 
kg frost." 



As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And chaxming is my Philly. 

SHE. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blcHV, 
So in my tender bosom grows 

The love I bear my Willy. 
US. 
The milder sun and bluer sky. 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joj 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 

As is a sight o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring. 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet. 
When evening shades in silence meet. 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 

HE. 

Let fortune's wheel at random rin. 
And fools may tjme, and knaves maj 

win ; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane. 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What's a' the joys that gowd can gi«, 
I care na wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love's the lad for me. 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

A BALLAD. 

Thbrb were three Kings into the eu^ 
Three Kings both greatand hi^ ; 



WORKS Of BVHN^ 



An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn should die. 
They took a plough and plough'd him 
down. 

Put clods upon his head ; 
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on. 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again. 

And sore surpris'd them all. 
The sultry suns of Summer came. 

And he grew thick and strong. 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 

That no one should him wrong. 
The sober Autumn enter'd mild. 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 
His colour sicken'd more and more. 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 
They've ta'en a weapon, long and 
sharp. 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 
They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgel'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm. 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 
ITiey laid him out upon the floor. 

To work him farther woe ; 
And still, as signs of life appear'd. 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all. 

Per he crush'd him 'tween two 



And they hae ta'en his very heart's 
blood. 

And drank it round and round ; 
iSiA. still the more and more they drsmk. 

Their joy did more abound. 



John Barleycorn was a hero bold. 

Of noble enterprise ; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise ; 
'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sil 

Tho' the tear ■« ere in her eye. 
Then let us toast John Barleycon^- 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME 

THUS. 

TUNE—" Roy's wife." 

CHORUS. 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy I 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy 1 
Well thou know' St my aching heart, — 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity ? 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard. 

Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 
Canst thou, &c. 
Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows teat 
That fickle heart of thme, my Katy ! 
Thou may'st find those will love the« 
dear — 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, &c. 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 

TUNE—" AY WAUKIN O." 
CHORUS. 

Long, long the night, * 

Heavy comes the morrow. 
While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 
Can I cease to care? 

Can I cease to languish, 
While my darliiig fair 
Is on the couch of : 
Long, &c. 



Every hope is fled, 
Every fear is terror ; 

Slumber even I dread. 
Every dream is horror. 
Long, &c. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh ! in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine. 

But my Chloris spare me ! 
Long, &c. 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

TUNE— "corn rigs ARK BONNIE," 

It wa- upon a Lammas ni^ht. 

When com rigs are bonnie. 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed. 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still. 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : _ 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely ; 
My blessing on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley J^j^ 
But by the moon and stars ?o bright. 

That shone that hour so clearly 1 
She aye shall bless that happy night 

Arfiang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been bly the wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear ; 

I hae been happy thinking : 
B-jt a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
rhat happy eight was worth them a , 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 



CHORfS. 

Com rigs, an' barley rigs, 
An' com rigs are bonnie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happjr night 
Amang the rigs wi' Annl«. 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA.' 

TUNE — " GILDKROV." 

From thee, Eliza, I must go 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar ; 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide. 

Between my Love and me. 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear. 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heai^ 

While death stands victor by. 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 

And thine that latest sigh 1 



MY NANNIE, O. 

Behind von hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd. 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill : 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ! 

But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal> 
An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' 
young ; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O, 



The editors of Bums have discover- 
ed two Elizas — and perhaps a futur« 
inquire! may enlarge the number, 
o a 



WORKS OP BURNS. 



Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spiotless as she's bonnie, O : 

The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 
An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I hov/ few they be? 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a'; my Nannie, O. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as bly the that bauds his pleugh. 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weal, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES.' 



A FRAGMENT. 



Green grow the rashes, O ; 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Were spent amang the lasses, O 1 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 

What signifies the life o' man. 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

' On this song Bums indites the fol- 
lowing note : — " I do not see that 
the turn of mind and pursuits of such a 
one as the above verses describe — one 
who spends the hours and thoughts 
which the vocations of the day can 
spare — with Ossian, Shakespeare, 
Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, &c., are 
in the least more inimical to the sacred 
interests of piety and virtue, than the, 
even lawful, bustling and straining 
idler the world's riches and honours." 



The warly race may riches chase. 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, <X 
Green grow, &c. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en. 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men. 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O 1 
Green grow, &c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, Oj 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw. 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man. 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 

TUNE — "l HAD A HORSE, I HAD NAB 
MAIR." 

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring 
wings, 
Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I 
rove at night 
To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dellk 

The soai-ing hem the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves. 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find. 
The savage and the tender : 

Some social join, and leagues cod bin* 
Some solitary wander ; 



ATaunt, away ! the cruel sway. 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's j oy, the murd'ring cry, 

The flutt'ring gory pinion ! 
But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear. 

Truck flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling com, the fruited thorn. 

And ev'ry happy creature. 
We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest. 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs. 

Not autumn to the farmer. 
So dear can be, as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer 1 



THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 



No churchman am I for to rail and to 

write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to 

fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a 

For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of 

my care. 
The peer I don't envy, I give him his 

bow ; 
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so 

low ; 
But a club of good fellows, like those 

that are here, 
A.nd a bottle like this, are my glory 

and care. 
Here passes the squire on his brother 

— his horse ; 
There aentum per centum, the cit with 

his purse ; 
But see you the Crown how it waves in 

the air ? 
rhere a big-bellied bottle still eases my 

care. 



The wife of my bosom, alas ! she die- 
die ; 

For sweet consolation to church I did 
fly; 

I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 

That the big-bellied bottle's a cure for 
all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to 
make; 

A letter inforra'd me that all was to 
wreck ; 

But the pursy old landlord just wad- 
dled up-stairs 

With a glorious bottle that ended my 
cares. 

" Life's cares they are comforts," ^ a 
maxim laid down 

By the bard, what d'ye call him, that 
wore the black gown ; 

And, faith, I agree with th' old prig to 
a hair. 

For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of 
care. 

A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it 

o'erflow. 
And honours masonic prepare for to 

throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of the compas* 
ad s 



3ig-beIUec 
ith care. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL 
TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY.* 

TUNE—" ROSLIN CASTLE." 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 

' Young's " Night Thoughts." 
^ Bums had been visiting the min- 
ister of Loudon, and his homeward path 
led him over solitary moors in a dark 
and windy evening of autumn. For 
some days, in his own words, he had 
been " skulking from covert to covert 
under all the terrors of a jail ; " and 
expecting almost immediately to em- 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Von murkjr cloud is foul with ram, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor. 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here 1 wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ajrr. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning com 
By early Winter's ravage torn : 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave. 
Where many a danger I must dare. 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr, 
'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear. 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound. 
That heart transpierc'd with many a 

wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my 

foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with 

those— 
The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 



THE FAREWELL. 



TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S 
LODGE, TARBOLTON. 



AiiiEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few. 

Companions of my social jojr ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie. 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 

bark for Jamaica, he designed these 
lines as a "farewell dirge to his native 



With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 
Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night> 
Oft, honoured with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic bright. 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa' 1 
May freedom, harmony, and love. 

Unite you in the grand design. 
Beneath the Onuiiscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! _ 
That you may k'-ep th' unerring linCi 

Still rising by the plummet's law. 
Till Order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 

And You,' farewell ! whose merits 
claim. 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble 
name. 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here. 

When yearly ye assemble a'. 
One round — I ask it with a tear. 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 



AND MAUN I STILL ON 
MENIE'' DOAT. 

TUNE—" TOCKEY'S GREY BREEKS." 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze. 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CH0RUS.3 

And maun I still on Menie doat. 
And bear the scorn that's in her 
e'e? 

' Sir John Whiteford, the Grand 
Master. 

'' Menie is the common abbreviation 
of Marianne. — R. B. 

3 This chorus is part of a song com- 
posed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a 
particular fnend of tho authoi. — R. Bi 



For its jet. Jet black, an* its like a 
hawk. 
An' it winna let a body be 1 

{n vain to me the cowslips blaw. 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

lo vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
And maun I still, &c. 

rhe merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 
And maun I still &c. 

rhe wanton coot ^ the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry. 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And everything is blest but I. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding 
slap,* 
And owre the moorland whistles 
shrill; 
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 
And maun I still, &c. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and 
dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. 
And mounts and sings on flittering 3 
wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
And maun I still, &c. 

Come Winter, with tliine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless 
soul. 
When Nature all is sad like me I 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her 
e'e? 
For its jet, jet black, an' it's like a 
hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be. 



• Water-fowl. 

* Bhuts the gate of the fold 

3 Trembling. 



HIGHLAND MARY.' 



TUNE — " KATHARINE OGIE." 



Yk banks, and braes, and 
around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your 
flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! * 
There simmer first unfald her robes. 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay greea 
birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace. 

Our parting was fu' tender ;_ 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's tha 
clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 

And closed for aye the sparlding glance. 
That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 



* The foregoing song pleases myself ; 
I think it is in my happiest manner. 
You will see at first glance that it suits 
the air. The subject of the song is one 
of the most interesting passages of my 
youthful days ; and I own that I should 
be much flattered to see the verses set 
to an air which would ensure celebrity. 
Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still growing 
prejudice of my heart that tlirows a 
borrowed lustre over the merits of t}jf 
composition. — R. B, 
i * Mudd Y. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



And mould'ring now in silent dust, 
That heart that lo'ed me dearly I 

But still within my bosom's core 
Shall live my Highland Mary. 



AULD LANG SYNE.' 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And never brought to min' 1 

Ehould auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And day^ o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne. 
We'll lak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes. 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 
We twa hae paidl't i' the bum. 

From momin sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 
And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,' 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie- 
waught,^ 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp. 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll laJc a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, ScC* 

' An old song into which Bums threw 
•ome of his own fire. 

Friend. 3 Draught. 

■♦ Your meeting, which you so well 
describe, with your old schoolfellow 
sad friend, was truly interesting. Out 
upon the ways of the world ! They 
spoil these "social offsprings of the 
heart." Two veterans of the " men of 
the world " would have met with little 
Bore heart -workings than two old 



BANNOCRuLiRN.* 

ROBERT BRUCe's AODRSSS TO HIS 

ARMY. 

TUNE — "hey TUTTIE, TAITIK.'" 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to yoiu- gory bed. 

Or to glorious victorie. 
Now's the day, and how's the hour 
See the front o' battle lour : 
See approach proud Edward's pow't— 

Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, 
is not the Scotch phrase, " Auld lang 
syne," exceedingly expressive ? 1 here 
is an old song and tune which has 
often thrilled through my soul ; I 
shall give you the verses in the other 
sheet. Light be the turf on the breast 
of the heaven-inspired poet who Com- 
posed this glorious fragment ! — To Mrs. 
Dunlop, Dec. 17, 1788; and to Mr. 
Thomson, September, 1793 : — The air 
is but mediocre ; but the following song, 
the old song of the olden times, and 
which has never been in print, nor even 
in manuscript, until I took it down 
from an old man's singing, is enough to 
recommend any air. 

' A friend had got a " grey High- 
land shelty " for Bums, and he made a 
little excursion on it into Galloway. He 
was particularly stmck with the scenery 
round Kenmore. From that place he 
and his companion took the Moor- 
road to Gatehouse, the dreary country 
being lighted up by frequent gleams 
of a thunderstorm, which soon poured 
down a flood of rain. Bums spoke 
not a word. "What do you think he 
was about ? " asked his fellow-travel- 
ler, relating the adventure. " He was 
charging the English army alone witii 
Bruce at Bannockburn. He was 
engaged in the same manner on our 
ride home from St. Mary's Isle. I did 
not disturb him. Next day he pro- 
duced the following address of Brae* 
to his troops." — Mr. Svme, g'-Joted b) 
Currie, i. 211. 



SOWGS. 



Wha will be i traitor knave? 
WTia can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wia sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ? 
*rha for Scotland's King and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa' ? 

Caledonian ! on wi' ms ! 
By Oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains, 
we will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall— they shall be free ! 
Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants foil in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 

Forward ! let us do, or die ! ' 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 



Where Cart rins rowin^ to the sea, 
By monie a flow'r and spreading tree, 
rhere lives a lad, the lad for me. 

He is a gallant weaver. 
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine. 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 

And I gied it to the weaver. 
Nfy daddie sign'd my tocher-band, 3 
To gie the lad that has the land. 
But to my heart I'll add my hand. 

And gie it to the weaver. 



' Independent of my enthusiasm as 
B Scotchman, I have rarely met with 
anything in history which interests my 
feelings as a man equal with the story 
of Bannockbum. On the one hand, a 
cruel but able usurper leading on the 
finest army in Europe to extinguish 
ihe last spark of freedom among a 
greatly-daiing and greatly-injured peo- 
ple ; on the other hand, the desperatfc 
relics of a gallant nation, devoting 
themselves to rescue their bleeding 
eountry, or to perish with her. — Burns 
t» Earl of Buckan, Jan. 12, 1794. 

' Rolling. 3 Marriage bond. 



While birds rejoice in leafy bowers . 
While bees rejoice in opening flowers. ; 
While com grows green in -• ~ 

showers, 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SONG. 



Anna, thy charms my bosom Sr^ 
And waste my soul with care ; 

But ah ! how bootless to admire. 
When fated to despair ! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair, 
To hope may be forgiven ; 

For, sure, 'twere impious to < 
So much in sight of heaven. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by. 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 

The rank is but the guinea stamp; 

The man's the gowd for a* that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 
Wear hodden-grey,^ and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves theil 
wine, 
A man's a man, for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that : 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is King o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie,'' ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that- 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 
He's but a coof 3 for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that. 
The man of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that 



' Coarse wooUei' cloth. 
■ Conceited fellow. 3 Blo:;kllead 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith, he mauna fa' ^ that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that. 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' 
worth. 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 
Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the gree,^ and a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a' that ; 

That man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

TUME — "the hopeless LOVER." 

Now spring has clad the groves in 
green, 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furroVd, waving com is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, _ 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 
The trout within yon wimpling biun 

Glides swift, a silver dart. 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was once that careless stream 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam. 

Has scorch'd my fountain dry. 
The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows. 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows, 
Was mine : till love has o'er me past. 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now beneath the withering blast. 

My youth and joy consume. 
fhe waken'd laVrock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky, 



' Try. " May be conquerors. 



Winnowin|; blitht» her dewy wingft 

In mommg's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's powelj 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, m luckless hour. 

Made me the thrall o' care. 
O had my fate been Greenland stio«% 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes. 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " Hop* 
nae mair ! '' 

What tongue his woes can tell ? 
Within whose bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 

TUNE — " THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S 
DELIGHT." 

Why, why tell thy lover. 

Bliss he never must enjoy? 
Why, why imdeceive him, 

And give all his hopes die lie i 
O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumben, 

Chloris, Chloris, all the.theme ! 
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel. 

Wake thy lover from his dream ? 



CALEDONIA. 



There was once a day, but old Time 
then was yovmg, 
That brave Caledonia, the chief of 
her line. 
From some of your northern deities 
sprung: 
(Whoknowsnot that brave Caledo- 
nia's divine ?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was t«r 
domain. 
To hunt, or to pasture, or do wbtf 
she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed hei 
reign, 
And pledg'd her their godheads U 
warrant it good. 



k lambkin in peace, but a lion in war. 
The pride of her kindred the heroine 
grew; 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly 
swore, 
" Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' 
encounter shall rue !" 
<Vith tillage, or pasture, at times she 
would sport. 
To feed her fair flocks by her green 
rustling com ; 
Bat chiefly the woods were her fav'rite 
resort. 
Her darling amusement, the hounds 
and the horn. 

Laocg quiet she reign'd; till thither- 
ward steers 
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's' 
strand; 
Repeated, successive, for many long 
years. 
They darken'd the air, and they 
plundered the land : 
Their pounces were murder, and terror 
their cry, 
The^d conquer'd and ruin'd a world 
beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let 
fly— 
The daring invaders they fled or they 
died. 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from 
the north. 
The scourge of the seas and the dread 
of the shore ; 
the wild ScandinSivian boar issu'd 
forth 
To wanton in carnage and wallow in 
gore:* 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury 
prevail'd, 
No arts could appease them, no arme 
could repel ; 
feut brave Caledonia in vain they as- 
sail'd. 
As Larg;5 well can witness, and Lon- 
cartie tell. 3 



' The Romans. 

• The Saxons and Danes. 

•Two famous battles in which the 



SONGS. aoi 

The Caraeleon-savage disturb'd her re- 



pose, 
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and 
strife ; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she 
arose. 
And robb'd him at once of his hope* 
and his life : 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 
Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed'a 
silver flood ; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian 
lance. 
He learned to fear in his own native 
wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, 
and free. 
Her bright course of glory for ever 
shall run : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must 
be; 
I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as 
the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll 
choose, 
The upright is Chance, and old Time 
is the base ; 
But brave Caledonia's thehypothenuse ; 
Then, ergo, she'll match them, and 
match them always.^ 



ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF- 
MUIR, BETWEEN THE DUKE 
OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL 
OF MAR.» 

TUNE— "the CAMERONIAN RANT." 

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun f 
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 



Danes or Norwegians were defeated.— 
Currie. 

' This singular figure of poetry refers 
to the 47th proposition af Euclid. In 



a right-angled triangle, the square ol 
othe 

Ciirrie. 



the hypothenuse is always equal to 
jther sides.— 



the square of the two otl 
'^ rrie. 

This poem, I am pretty well ccn 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Or vere you at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man?" 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
A.nd reeking-red ran monie a sheugh,' 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough. 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,3 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,"* 

Wha glaum'd 5 at Kingdoms three, 
man. 
The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude out- 
gush' d. 

And monie a bouk^ did fa', man ; 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broad- 
swords clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and 
smash' d, 

Till fey7 men died awa, man. 
Bat had you seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews,8 man. 
When in the teeth they dar'd our 
Whigs, 

Ajid covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets oppose the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the 

sheath, 
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath. 

They fled like frighted doos,9 man. 
" O how deil, Tam, can that be true ? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man : 
I saw mysel, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig'° wi' a' their might. 
And straught to Stirling wing'd their 

flight ; 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut. 
And monie a huntit, poor red-coat. 

For fear amaist did swarf,^' man." 



einced, is not my brother's, but more 
indent than his birth.— -G. B. 
' Ditch. ' Noises. 3 Clouds. 

* Clothes. S Snatched at. 6 Body. 
1 Marked for death. 

• Trousers. 5 Doves. 
" Biidge. " Swoon. 



My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae guid-will 
That day their neebors' blood to spiJl' 
For fear, by foes, that they shouM 

lose 
Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd at 
blows. 
And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen 

Ainang the Highland clans, man ; 
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. 

Or fallen in en'mies hands, man : 
Now wad ye sing this double fight. 
Some fell for wrang, and some fo 

right ; 
But monie bade the world guid-night ,• 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell 
Wi' dying yell, the Tories.fell, 
And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



THE 
DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

TUNE—" PUSH ABOUT THE JORUM." 

April, 179.4 
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the louns beware. Sir. 
There's wooden walls upon our seas. 

And volunteers on shore. Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,' 

And Criffel ^ sink to Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

Falderal,&c 

O let us not like snarling tykes' 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loon ♦ 

And with a rangS decide it. 

^ A high hill at the source of the Nith 
* A mountain at the mouth of tk 
same river. 
3 Dogs. 4 Raganiuflttn. S Ct'dga 



Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
Fal de ral, &c 
The kettle o' the kirk and state. 

Perhaps a claut may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' ' a nail in't ; 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; — 
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Falderal, &5. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own. 

And the wretch, his true-bom brother. 
Who would set the mob aboon the 
throne, 
May they be d — d together ! 
Who will not sing, "God save the 
King," 
Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " God save the 
King," 
We'll ne'er forget the People. 



O, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES 
ME. 

TUNE — " MORAG." 

WHA is she that lo'es me. 
And has my heart a-keeping ? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me. 
As dews o' simmer weeping. 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart. 

My lassie, ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind, 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

tf thou shalt meet a lassie. 
In grace and beauty charming. 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
Erewhile thy breast sae warmmg, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming ;, 
O that's, &c. 



Drive. 



If thou hadst heard her talking, 

And thy attentions plighted, 
That ilka body talking. 

But her, by thee is slighted. 

And thou art all delighted ; 

O that's, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 

When frae her thou hast parted. 
If every other fair one. 
But her, thou hast deserted. 
And thou art broken-hearted ; 
O that's the lassie o' my heart. 

My lassie ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



CAPTAIN GROSE. 

TUNE— "sir JOHN MALCOLM." 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo and ago, 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 
Is he South, or is he North ? 

Igo and ago. 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 
Is he slain by Highland bodies T 

Igo and ago. 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 
Is he to Abram's bosom gane? 

Igo and ago. 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame i 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! 

Igo and ago ; 
As for the deil, he daur na steer' him, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th' enclosed letter 

Igo and ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor 

Iram, coram, dago. 
So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Ipo a)u.d «go. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



rhe very stanes that Adam bore, 
Iram, coram, dago. 

&o may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'T. 

First when Maggy was my care. 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair ' — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. _ 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Mag was nature's child — 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd ; — 

Whistle owre the lave o't." 

How we live, my Meg and me. 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding-sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,3 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd"* my een sae bonnie blue. 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma' ; 
An' aye my heart came to my mou. 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain. 
Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and 
snaw; 

ftfld o'er the lea I look fu' fain 
When Jockey's owsenS hameward 



An' aye the night comes round agaift 
When in his arms he taks me a' ; 

An' aye he vows he'll be my ain 
As lang's he has a breath to draw. 



' Inquire no mora 
"The rest of it. 



3 The plough. 
5 Oxen. 



M'PHERSON'S' FAREWELL. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark 
strong. 

The wretch's destinie ; 
M'Pherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows tree. 



Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 

He pla^d a spring and danc'd i| 
round, 
Below the gallows tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath?— 

On monie a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in all Scot!and, 
But I'll brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, &c. 

I've liVd a life of sturt" and strife ; 

I die by treachery : 
It bums my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Now farewell, light, thou sunshint 
bright. 
And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his naabi. 
The wretch that dares not die 1 
Sae rantingly, &c. 



^ A noted Highland robber, whose 
daring is portrayed in the verses. H« 
broke his violin at tlie foot of th« 
gallows. 

' Trouble. 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 



A NEV9 BALLAD. 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
^d dire the discord Langside saw 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen. Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob' for the 
famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. 

This Hal, for genius, wit, and lore. 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store. 

Commandment tenth remember'd. 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shows that heaven can boil the 
pot. 

Though the devil — in the fire. 

Squire Hal, besides, had, in this case. 

Pretensions rather brassy. 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye 
see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumxision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision ; 
Nay, Bobby's mouth maybe open'd yet, 

Till for eloquence you hail him. 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and die, 
Ye heretic eight and thirty ! 

put accept, ye subUme Majority, 
My congratulations hearty. 



Henry Erskine and Robert Dundas. 



With your Honours and a certain King, 
In your servants this is striking — 

The more incapacity they bring. 
The more they're to your Uking. 



I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN» 

I'll aye ca' in by yxm town. 
And by yon garden green again ; 

I'll aye ca' in by yo& town. 
And see my bonnie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail 
guess. 

What brings me back the gate again. 
But she, my fairest faithfu' lass. 

And stownlins' we sail meet again. 
She'll wander by the aiken tree. 

When trystin-time draws near again ; 
And when her lovely form I see,_ 

O haith, she's doubly dear again I 



A BOTTLE AND FRIEND. 

There's nane that's blest of human kind, 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 
Fal. lal, &c. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens, before his life may end. 

What his share may be o' care, man f 
Then catch the moments as they fly. 

And use them as ye ought, man : — 
Believe me, happiness is shy, 

Andcomesnot aye when sought, man. 



I'LL KISS THEE YET. 
TUNE— "the braes o' balquiudek.' 



I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 

And I'll kiss thee o'er again 
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

My bonnie Peggy Alison J 



By stealth. 



WORKS OF BURNi. 



Ii-K care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O ; 
iToung Kings upon their hansel ' throne 

Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 
When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my coimtless treasure, O ; 
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share. 

Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 
And by thy een sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever, O ; — 
And on thy lips I seal my vow. 

And break it shall I never, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS." 



On Cessnock banks a lassie 3 dwells ; 

Could I describe her shape and mien ; 
Our lasses a' she far excels. 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
She's sweeter than the morning dawn, 

When rising Phoebus first is seen. 
And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
She's stately like yon youthful ash 

That grows the cowslip braes be- 
tween. 
And drinks the stream with vigour 
fresh ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn, 

With flow'rs so white, and leaves so 
green. 
When purest in the dewy mom ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een, 

^ Throne first occupied. 

• This song was an early production. 
It was recovered by the editor from the 
•ral communication of a lady residing 
tt Glasgow, whom the bard in early life 
affectionately admired. — Cromek. 

3 The "lassie" was Ellison Begbie, 
% farmer's daughter, but then the serv- 
tnt of a family living about two miles 
rom Buin» 



Her looks are like the vernal May, 

When ev'ning Phoebus shines sereue 
While birds rejoice on every spray ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een, 
Her hair is like the curling mist 

That climbs the mountain-sides al 
e'en, 
When flow'r-reviving rams are jsist ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
Her forehead's like the show'ry bow. 

When gleaming sunbeams intervene. 
And gild the distant nioimtain's brow ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
Her cheeks are like yon crimson g« -n, 

The pride of all the flowery scene. 
Just opening on its thorny stem ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish ewfl. 
Her teeth are like the nightly snow 

When pale the morning rises keen. 
While hid the murmuring streamlet! 
flow; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een . 
Her lips are like yon cherries ripe. 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen 
They tempt the taste and charm th« 
sight ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
Her breath is hke the fragrant bree»!, 

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 
When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 

That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 
While his mate sits nestUng in the bush ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
But it's not her air, her form, her face, 

Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 
'Tis the mind that shines in eVry gr»«e^ 

An chiefly in her roguish een. 



PRAYER FOR MARY.» 

TUNE— "blue bonnets." 

Powers celestial, whose protection 
Ever guards the virtuous fair, 

' Probably written on HighUlW' 



W ."^i; iua distant climes 1 wander. 
Let my Mary be your care : 

txtt her form sae fair and faultless, 
Fair and faultless as your own, — 

Let my Mary's kindred spirit 
Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Soothe her bosom into rest ; 
Guardian angels, O protect her. 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms imknown while fate exiles 
me^ 

Make her bosom still my home. 



YOUNG PEGGY.' 

TUNK — " LAST TIME I CAM o'eR THE 
MUIR." 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass. 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams. 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has grac'd them. 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight. 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting. 
And little lambkins wanton wild. 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe. 
Such sweetness would relent her, 

As bloomii\g Spring unbends the brow 
Of surly savage Winter. 

Itetraction's eye no aim car gain 
Her winning powers to lessen ; 



Mrry, on the eve of the Poet's de- 
parture to the West Indies. — Cromek. 
' Tliis 'vas one of the poet's earliest 
ti«inp<' •* ions. — Cromek, 



And fretful envy giins in vaiu, 
'I'he poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truths 

From ev'ry ill defend her : 
Inspire the highly favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her : 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE 
TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. 



By yon castle wa' at the close of the 

day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it 

was grey ? 
And as he was singing, the tears fast 

down came — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame. 

The church is in ruins, the state is in 

jars. 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous 

wars; 
We dare na weel sayt, but we ken 

wha's to blame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew 

sword. 
And now I greet round theii greeii 

beds in the yerd ; 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' 

auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamio 

comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me 

down. 
Sin' T tint my bairns, and he tint his 

crown ; 
But till my last moment my words ara 

the same — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie cotiW 

hame. 



WORKS OF BURJ>rS. 



THERE WAS A LA©. 

TUNE— "dAINTIE DAVIE." 

TlfatRE was a lad was born at Kyle/ 
Bu' what'n a day o' what'n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 

Our monarch's hindnost year but ane 
Was five-and-twent) years begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof. 
Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a', 
He'll be a credit till us a'. 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But, sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line. 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye, gar, 
Ve gar the lasses lie aspar. 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
So blessins on thee, Robin ! 



Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' ; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 



TO MARY." 

'EWE-BUGHTS, MARION.' 



l¥lLL yc go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 



• Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 
Mary Campbell. In my very early 



Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across the Atlantic's roar? 

sweet grows the lime and the onuig% 
And the apple on the pine : 

But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to 09 

Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens t« b« 

true ; 
And sae may the Heavens forget me. 
When I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white hand; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
In mutual affection to join. 

And curst be the cause that shall pari 
us! 
The hour and the moment o' time. 



MARY MORISON. 

TUNE—" BIDE YE YET." 

Mary, at thy window be. 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hoiu- ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That make the miser's treasure poor , 
How bhthely wad I bide the stoure," 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling striltfi 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha' 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw 
And yon the toast of a' the towo 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a , 

"Ye are na Mary Morison." 



years, when I was thinking of goIa| 
to the West Indies, I took the follow 



ig farewell of -i. dear gitJ. 

I Hncf 



t Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy s.ike wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown I 
• thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



THE SODGER'S RETURN.' 

AIR — "the mill, mill, O." 

Whkn wild war's deadly blast was 
blawn. 

And gentle peace retvuTiing, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning ; 
I left the lines and tented field, 

Where lang I'd been a lodger. 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand vmstain'd vn' plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen. 

Where early life I sported ; 
i pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
WTia spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me roimd to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, " Sweet lass. 
Sweet as yon hawthorn Hossom, 

1 ! happy, happy may he be. 
That's dearest to thy bosom ! 



' A soldier, passing by the window of 
ui inn, suggested these touching lines. 
The Poet called him in, and asked him 
s> relate his adveutures. 



My purse is light, I've far to ii.ang, 

And fain wad be thy lodger ; 
I've serv'd my King and Country 

lang— 
Take pity on a sodger ! " 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me. 

And lovelier was than ever : 
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed. 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare. 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't," 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose^ 

Syne ^ pale like onie lily ; 
She sank within my arms and cried, 

' ' Art thou my ain dear Willie ? " 
" By Him who made yon sun and sky. 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man ; and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded ! 

"The wars are o'er, and I'm com« 
hame 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted." 
Quo' she, " My grandsire left me gowd. 

A mailen^ plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! " 

For gold the merchant ploughs tJw 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

The sodger's wealth is honour : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despii^ 

Nor count him as a stranger. 
Remember he's his country^s stay 

In day and hour o' danger. 



A MOTHEk'S LAMENT FOR 
THE DEATH OF HER SON. 



TUNE — " FINLAYSTON HOUSE. 

Fate gave the word, the arrow spi 
And pierc'd my darling's heart ; 



WORKS OW BURNS. 



And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart ! 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid : 
Bo fell the ]'ride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mothei-liimet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake. 

Lament the live-day long. 
Piath, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond, I bare my breast ; 
O do thou kindly lay me low 

>Vith him I love, at rest ! 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.' 

TUNE— "the weaver AND HIS 
SHUTTLE, O." 

Mv Father was a Farmer, upon the 

Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me in decency 

and order, O ; 
tie bade me act a manly part, though 

I had ne'er a farthing, O — 
K>r without an honest manly heart, no 

man was worth regarding, O. 

Tiien out into the world my course I 

did determine, O ; 
The' to be rich was not my v/ish, yet 

to be great was charming, O : 
My talents they were not the worst; 

nor yet my education, O ; 
Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend 

my situation, O. 

la mjuiy a waj', and vain essay, I 
«,ourted Fortune's favour, O ; 

Some :ause unseen still stept between, 
to frustrate each endeavour, O : 



* The following song is a wild rhap- 
lody,miserablydeficientin versification; 
but as the sentiments are the genuine 
feelings of my heart, for that reason I 
have a particular pleasure in conning 
it over. — R. B. Mr. Cunningham 
'bund tiaces of the Poet's early history 
iH tiieie lines. 



Sometimes by foes 1 was o'urpowu'd; 

sometimes by friends forsaken, O. 
And when my hope was at the top, I 

still was worst mistaken, O. 
Then, sore harass' d, and tir'd at last, 

with Fortune's vain delusion, O ; 
I dropt my schemes, like idle drt-ams, 

and came to this conclusioi., O : 
The past was bad, and the future hidj 

its good or ill untried, O ; 
But the present horn- was in my povVH, 

and so I would enjoy it, O. 
No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; 

nor person to befriend me, O ; 
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, aad 

labour to sustain me, O. 
To plough and sow, to reap and Oniw, 

my father bred me early, O ; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, was « 

match for Fortune fairly, O. 
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, 

thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O ; 
Till down my weary bones I lay in 

everlasting slumber, O ; 
No view nor care, but shun whate'cr 

might breed me pain or sorrow, O; 
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless 

of to-morrow, O. 
But cheerful still, I am as well as « 

monarch in a palace, O ; 
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts lac 

down, with all her wonted malice,0' 
I make indeed my daily bread, but 

ne'er can make it further,- O ; 
But, as daily bread is all I need, I do 

not much regard her, O. 
When sometimes by my labour, I earn 

a little money, O, 
Some unforeseen misfortunecomes gen'' 

rally upon me, O ; 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, oi 

my good-natur'd folly, O ; 
But come what will, I've sworn it, stilj, 

I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 
All you who follow wealth and power 

with unremitting ardom-, O, 
The more in this you look for bliss, yov 

leave your view the farther, O : 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, oi 

nations to adore you, O 
A cheerful honest-hearted p' ■•ti I wfl 

prefer before you, O. 



BONNlt, LESLEY. 



J SAW ye bonnie Lesley, 

As she gae'd o'er the border? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 
To see her is to love her. 

And love but her for ever ; 
for Nature made her what she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither ! 
Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine. Fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 
The Deil he could na scaith thee. 

Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonnie face. 

And say, " I canna wrang thee." 
The Powers aboon will tent thee : 

Misfortune sha'na steer ^ thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely. 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 
Return again. Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



AMANG THE TREES. 



A.MANG the trees, where humming bees 
At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 

Vuld Caledon drew out her drone. 
And to her pipe was singing, O : 

Twas Pibroch,3 Sang, Strathspey, or 
Reels, 
Sh«! dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 



' Miss Lesley Baillie. The ballad 
was composed by Burns after spending 
k-diy with the lady's family, then on 
their way to England. 

" Hurt. 

* A Highlrid v ir-song adapted to 
ibt bagpipe. 



Wlien there cf^ a yell o' foreign 

squeels. 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O. — 
Their capon craws and queer ha, ha'^ 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike 

Till we were woe and weary, O ; 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa. 
He fir'd a fiddler in the north 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



WHEN FIRST I CAME TO 
STEWART KYLE. 

HAD 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady. 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I radc, 

A mistress still I had aye : 
But when I came roun' by Mauchlint 
town. 

Not dreadin' onie body. 
My heart was caught before I thought. 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 



AIR — SENSIBILITY. 

Sensibility, how charming, 

Thou, my friend, canst truly_ tell ; 
But distress, with horrors arming. 

Thou hast also known too well. 
Fairest flower, behold the lily. 

Blooming in the sunny ray : 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 

See it prostrate on the clay. 
Hear the wood-lark charm the foieU 

Telling o'er his Uttle joys; 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest 

To each pirate of the jkies. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Dearly bought, the hidden treasure 

Finer feehngs can bestow ; 
Chords, that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



MONTOOMERIE'S PEGGY/ 

TUNK — " GALLA WATER." 

Ai-T.Ho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Aniang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be, 
Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms. 
And winter nights were dark and 
rainy ; 
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 

Were I a Baron proud and high. 
And horse and servants waiting 
ready, 
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me. 
The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

O.v a bank of flowers, in a summer day. 

For summer lightly drest. 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay. 

With love and sleep opprest ; 

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood. 
Who for her favour oft had sued. 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 
And trembled where he stood. 



' My Montgomerie's Peggy was my 
deity for six or eight months. I have 
tried to imitate, in this extempore thing, 
that irregularity in the rhyme which, 
when iadiciously done, has such a fine 
tifect sn the ear.— R. B. 



Her closed eyes, like weapon t sheatb'a 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly prest. 

Wild, wanton kiss,'d her rival breast j 
He gazed, 'he wish'd, he fear'd, h« 
blush'd. 

His bosom ill at -rest. 
Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs embrace ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace ! 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, ha 
blush'd. 

And sigh'd his very soul. 
As flies the partridge from the brake. 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, stacting, half awake. 

Away affrighted sprirgs : 
But Willie follow'd— as he should. 

He overtook her in the wood : 
He vow'd, he pra^d, he found the vasM 

Forgiving all, and good. 



O RAGING FORTUNE'S 
WITHERING BLAST. 

O KAGiNG Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
O raging Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
My stem was fair, my bud was green. 

My blossom sweet did blow, O ! 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild. 

And made my branches grow, O. 
But luckless Fortune's northern stormi 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ! 
But luckless Fortune's northern storii4 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O I 



EVAN :,ANKS. 

TUNB— " SA'ffi;RNA DEIJ5H." 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul (?e 

sires. 
The sun from India's shore retire* 



To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray- 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 

Oh ! Banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh ' stream.whose murmurs still I hear ! 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest. 
Whose image lives within thy breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh. 
And long pursued me with her eye : 
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine. 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound. 
Ye lavish woods that wave around. 
And o'er the stream your shadows 

throw. 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to mem'ry brings. 
All that on Evan's border springs ! 
Sweet Banks ! ye bloom by Mary's 



Blest stream ! she views thee haste to 
Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ! 
Return, ye moments of delight, _ 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to 
Clyde ! 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

TUNK— "for a' that." 

Tko' women's minds, like winter winds. 
May shift and turn, and a' that. 

Hie noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 
And twice as meikle's a' that, 

The bonnie lass that I lo'e best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 



But there is ane aloon the lave. 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that ; 

A bonnie lass, I like her best, 
And wha a crime dare ca' that f 
For a' that, &c. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN.' 



Thou liug'ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That loVst to greet the early mom. 
Again thou ushe?st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast 1 
That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove. 
Where by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love 2 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
O'erhung with wild woods, thick'n- 
ing green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthcm hoai, 
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur*!! 
scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,— 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry 

wakes. 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 

Time but th' impression deeper makes. 

As streams their channels deeper 

wear. 



' The Mary Campbell already men- 
tioned. The stanzas were composed 
while Bums lay on some sheaves ni £'i« 
harvest-field, with his eyes fixe*" on z 
star of exceeding brightness. 



«ie WORKS I 

My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy bUssful place of rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast f 



TO MARY. 

Could aught of song declare my pains, 

Could aitful numbers move thee, 
Ihe Muse should tell, in labour'd 
strains, 
O Mary, hovir I love thee ! 
I'hey who out feign a woimded heart 
- • .ly - ■- 



May teach the lyre to lang 
But what avails the pride of art. 

When wastes the soul with anguish ? 
Then let the sudden bursting sigh 

The heart-felt pang discover ; 
And in the keen, yet tender eye, 

O read the imploring lover. 
For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising ; 
Beyond what fancy e'er refm'dj 

The voice of nature prizing. 



O LEAVE NOVELS. 

O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchhne belles, 

Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 
Such witching books are baited hooks 

For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 
Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 

They make yoia- youthful fancies 
reel, 
ITiey heat your brains, and fire your 
veins. 

And then you're prey for Rob Moss- 
giel. 
Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung ; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
rhat feeling heart but acts a part, — 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
Fhe frank address, the soft caress. 

Are worse than poison'd darts of 
steel ; 
ITje frank address, and politesse. 

Are all finesse m Rol Mossgiel. 



ADDRESS 
TO GENERAL DUM0UB.1EJU 

A PARODY ON RdBIN ADAIR." 

You're welcome to despots,Dum(niiier: 
You're welcome to despots, DumounotR 

How does Dampiere do ? 

Ajre, and Bournonville too ? 
Why did they not come along with yo.^ 

Dumourier 1 
I will fight France with you, Dumourier J 
I will fight France with you,Dumouriet; 

I will fight France with you ; 

I will take my chance with you ; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance witJi you, 
Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 

Then let us figh^ about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about. 
Till freedom's spark is out. 

Then we'll be d — d, no doubt, Du« 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire tli 
Take a heart which he designs tho 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 
Proof o' shot to birth or money. 
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
Not high-bom, but noble-minded, 
In love's silken band can bind it I 



ONE NIGHT AS I DID 
WANDER. 

TUNE— "JOHN ANDERSON; MY JOw" 

One night as I did wander. 
When corn begins to shoot. 

I sat me down to ponder. 
Upon an auld tree-root : 



' "Robin Adair" begins, "Yoa'n 
welcome to Paxton, Robm Adair." 



Auld Ayro ran by before me, 
And bicker'd to the seas ; 

A cushat crowded o'er me. 
That echoed thro' the braes. 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST.' 

A FRAGMENT. 

Fhe winter it is past, and the simmer's 
come at last. 
And the Uttle birds sing on every 
tree; 
Now everything is glad, while I am 
very sad. 
Since my true love is parted from me. 
The rose upon the brier, by the waters 
running clear. 
May have charms for the linnet or 
the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their 
little hearts at rest. 
But my true love is parted from me. 



FRAGMENT. 

Hbr flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown har neck and bosom hing ; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling. 

And round that neck entwine her 1 
Her lips are roses wet wi] dew ! 
O, what a feast her bonnie mou ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 

A crimson still diviner ! 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.' 

TUNE—" CAPTAIN o'kEAN." 

The small birds rejoice in the green 
leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear 
thro' the vale ; 

* Gilbert Bums denied his brother's 
MlUloi^p of this fragment, which, in 
tally boyhood, he had heard their 
K.Jti'S'sing. 

' V bese admirable stanzas are sup- 



The hawthorn trees blow in the dew* 
of the morning, 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck 
the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what 

can seem fair. 
While the lingering moments ars 

number'd by care ? 
No flowers gaily springing, nor birdii 

sweetly singing, 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joylesi 

despair. 

The deed that I dar'd could it merit 
their malice, 
A King, or a Father, to place oa hia 
throne ? 
His right are these hills, and his right 
are these valleys. 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, 
but I can find none. 
But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, 
forlorn ; 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your 
ruin I mourn : 
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody 
trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter 
retvim? 



THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 

tune—" BONNIE DUNDEE." 

In Mauchline there dwells six propef 
young Belles, 
The pride of the place and its neigh- 
bourhood a', 
Their carriage and dress, a strangel 
would guess. 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gott»a 
it a': 
Miss Miller is fine. Miss Markland'i 
divine. 
Miss Smith she has wit, and Misi 
Betty is braw : 

posed to be spoken by the young Princa 
Charles Edward, when wandering in 
the Highlands of Scotland, after Wl 
fatal defeat at CuUjsden. — ThomsoH 



WORKS OF BUSNS. 



fhere's beautv and fortune to get wi' 
Miss Morton, 
But Armour's the jewel for me o' 
them a'. 



YE HAE LIEN A' WRANG, 
LASSIE. 

CHORUS. 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye've lien a' wrang, 
Ye've lien in an unco '^ bed. 

And wi' a fremit^' man. 

Your rosy cheeks are tum'd sae wan, 
Ye're greener than the grass, lassie ; 

Your coatie's shorter by a span, _ 
Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 

lassie, ye hae plaVd the fool. 
And ye will feel the scorn, lassie ; 

For aye the brose ye sup at e'en. 
Ye bock 3 them ere the mom, lassie. 

Oh, ance ye danc'd upon the knowes,^ 
And through the wood ye sang, lassie ; 

But in the berrying o' a bee byke,S 
I fear ye've gat a stang, lassie. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM 
THAT'S AWA. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our 

cause. 
May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It's guid to be merry and wise. 
It's guid to be honest and true, 
^t's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
Here's a health to Charlie 6 the chief 

o' the clan, 
iltho' that his band be sma'. 



Hills. S Bee-hive, 



3 Vomit. 
<5 Charles Fox. 



May liberty meet wi' success i 
May prudence protect her frae evil 1 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in tli« 

mist. 
And wander their way to the Devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's health to Tammie,' the Nor- 
land laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here's freedom to him that wad tead, 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth 
should be heard 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod,^ a chieftain 
worth gowd, 

Tho' bred amang moimtains o' snaw 1 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

TUNE — " THE TITHER MORN, AS I 
FORLORN." 

Yon wan'd'ring rill, that marks the hill, 
And glances o'er the brae. Sir, 

Slides by a bower where monie a flower 
Sheds fragrance on the day. Sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay :_ 
To love they thought nae crime, Sir 

The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang. 
While Damon's heart beat time, Sir^ 



MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S 
GAIRS UPON'T. 



My lady's gown there's gairs upoo't 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't 
But Jenny's jimps and jirldnet. 
My lord thinks muckle mair upctn't 

* Thomas Erskine. 
' M'Leod. chief of that cliUb 



My lord a-hunting he is gane. 
But hounds or haw ks wi' him are nane. 
By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
My lady's gown, &c 

My lady's white, my lady's red. 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude. 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in the 'vildemess. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs. 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue. 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

My lady's dink,^ my lady's drest. 
The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
O that's t>ie lass to make him blest. 
My lady's gown, &c. 



O AVE MY WIFE SHE DANG 
ME. 



O aye my wife she dang-me. 
An' aftmy wife she bang'd me ; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
Gmd faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent. 

And fool I was I marry'd ; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarry'd. 
Borne sairie * comfort still at last. 

When a' their- days are done, man. 
My pains o hell on earth is past, 

I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man, 
O aye my wife, &c. 



Neat. 



Sorrowful 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 

A BALLAD. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsomo 
plains. 

Where late wi' careless though*- I 
rang'd. 
Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 

To thee I bring a heart unchang'ii. 
I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 

Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear ; 
For there he roVd that brake my heart 

Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear I 



BONNIE PEG. 
As I came in by our gate end. 

As day was waxin' weary, 
O wha came tripping down the street 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 
Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 

Wi' nae proportion wanting. 
The Queen of Love did never move 

Wi' motion mair enchanting. 
Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

A-down yon winding river ; 
And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower. 

Can I forget it ever ? 



O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, 
LASS. 



O lay thy loof ^ in mine, lass. 

In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
And swear in thy white hand, lass. 
That thou wilt be my ain. 
A SLAVE to Love's unbounded sway. 
He aft has wrought me meikle was ; 
But now he is my deadly fae. 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lav thy loof, &c. 

There's monie a lass has broke ray rest 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best : 



Palm of the hand. 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



But thou art Queen within my breast, 
For ever to remain. 
O lay thy loof, &c. 



O GUID ALE COMES. 



O ^id ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose — 
Sell my hos4, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid aje keeps my heart aboon. 

( HAD sax owsen in \ pleugh, 
rhey Irew a' weel eneugh, 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

3uid ale hauds me bare and busy. 
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Starid i' the stool when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O gnid ale comes, &c. 



O WHY THE DEUCE. 

EXTEMPORE. APRIL, 1782. 

WHY the deuce should I repine. 
And be an ill foreboder ? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
I held it weel thegither ; 

But now it's gane and something mair, 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



POLLY STEWART. 



O lovely Polly Stewart, 
O charming Polly Stewart, 

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in 
May, 
That's half SI fiir as thou art. 



The flower it blaws, it fades, it U » 
And art can ne'er renew it ; 

But worth and truth eternal youth 
Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he, whase arms shall fauld tb^ 
charms. 
Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the h' «vr« 
He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
O lovely, &c. 



ROBIN SHURE IN HAHUTI' 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst. 

I shure wi' him, 
Fient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I GAED up to Dunse, 

To warp a wa'b o' plaiden. 
At his daddie's yett, 

Wha met me but Robin. 
Was na Robin bauld, 

Tho' I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic a trick. 

And me the eller's dochter f 
Robin shure, &c. 

Robin promis'd me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin shure, &c. 



THE FIVE CARLINS.'— AN 
ELECTION BALLAD. 

TUNE—" CHEW -HASE." 

There were five Carlins in the soutB, 

They fell upon a scheme. 
To send a lad to Lun'on town 

To bring ic tidings hame. 

' The five boroughs of DumfriesisAin 
and Kirkcudbri^t. 



K' rt only bring us tidings hame. 

But do our errands there. 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 
There was Maggie' by the banks o' 
Nith, _ 

A dame wi' pride enough ; 
And Marjorie* o' the monie Lochs, 

A Cailin auld an' teugh. 
And blinkin Bess 3 o' Annandalf, 

That dwells near Solway side. 
And whisky Jean ■* that took her gill 

In Galloway so wide. 
And auld black Joan 3 fra Creighton 
peel, 

O' gipsy kith an' kin. 
Five weightier Carlins were na found 

The south countrie within. 
To send a lad to Lon'on town 6 

They met upon a day, 
Aijd monie a knight, and monie a Laird, 

That errand fain would gae. 
O ! monie a Knight, and monie a Laird, 

This errand fain would gae ; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

O ! ne'er a ane but twae. 
The first ane was a belted Knight,^ 

Bred o' a border clan ; 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town. 

Might nae man him withstan' ; 
And he wad doe their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say. 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 
Then neist came in a sodger youth,8 

And spak wi' modest grace. 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town. 

If sae their pleasure was. 
He wad nae hecht^ them courtly gift. 

Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
But he wad hecht an honest heart 

Wad ne'er desert his friend. 



* Dumfries. ' Lochmaben. 

3 Annan. 4 Kirkcudbright. 

S Sanquhar. 
The five boroughs returned or.e 
kamber. 
' Sir James Johnstone 
« Captain Miller. » Offer. 



r6. 2»i 

Now, whom to choose, wiJ whom re- 
fuse. 

To strife thae Carlins fell ; 
For some had gentle folk to please. 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 

An' she spak out wi' pride. 
An' she wad send the sodger youth 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court 

She dinna care a pin, 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son. 
Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale : 

A deadly aith she's ta'en, 
That she wad vote the border Knight, 

Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair. 
An' fools o' change are fain : 

But I hae tried this border Knight, 
An' I'll trie him yet again. 

Says auld black Joan frae Creightoa 
peel, 

A Carlin stout and grim, 
The auld guidman, or young guidman. 

For me may sink or swim ! 

For fools may prate o' right and wrang. 
While knaves laugh them to scorn : 

But the sodger's friends hae blawn tha 
best, 
Sae he shall bear the horn. 

Then whiskey Jean spak owre her drink, 
" Ye weel ken, kimmers a'. 

The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 
His back's been at the wa'. 

An' monie a friend that kiss'd his cauit, 

Is now a fremit wight ; 
But it's ne'er sae wi' whiskey Jean, — 

We'll send the border Knight." 

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 
And wrinkled was her brow ; 

Her ancient weed was russet gray. 
Her auld Scots hea.t was true. 

" There's some great folks set light bj 
me, 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town, 

Wha I lo'e best at hame." 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



So how this mighty plea wiil end, 
Nj»e mortal wight can tell ; 

God grant the King, and ilka man, 
May look weel to himsel' ! ' 



THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY 
DADDIE, 

The haims gat out wi' an unco shout. 

The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O ! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld 
wife, 

He was but a paidlin body, O ! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in. 

An' he paidles late and early, _0 ; 
Hiae seven lang years I hae lien by 
his side. 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O. 

O haud your tongue, my feirie auld 
wife, 

O haud your tongue now, Nansie, O : 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye. 

Ye wadna been sae donsie, O : 
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose. 

And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O ; 
But downa do's come o'er me now. 

And, oh, I feel it sairly, O ! 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE 
BED TO ME. 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld. 
As to the north I took my way. 

The mirksome night did me enfauld, 
I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met. 

Just in the middle o' my care ; 
And kindly she did me invite 

To walk into a chamber fair. 
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 

And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 

And bade her mak a bed to me. 
Bhe made the bsd baith large and wide, 

Wi' twa white hands she spread it 
down; 

* Miller was elected. 



She put the cup to her rosy lips, 
And drank, " Young man, now kleep 
ye soun." 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand. 
And frae my chamber went wi' speed • 

But I call'd her quickly back again 
To lay soma mair below my head. 

A cod' she laid below my head. 
And served me vi^i' due_ respect ; 

And to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 

" Haud aff your hands, young maa," 
she says, 
" And dinna sae imcivil be ; 
If ye hae onie love for me, 

wrang na my virginite ! " 

Her hair was like the links_ o' gowd. 
Her tseth were like the ivorie ; 

Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 

Her limbs the polish' d marble stane, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kissed her owre and owre again. 
And aye she wist na what to say ; 

I laid her 'ween me and the wa', 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we rose, 

1 thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
But aye she bluSh'd, and aye she sigh'd. 

And said, "Alas ! ye've ruin'd me." 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, 
While the tear stood twinklin in hej 
_ e'e ; 

I said, " My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me.'" 

She took her mither's Holland sheets. 
And made them a' in sarks to me : 

Blythe and merry may she be, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me. 
The braw lass made the bed to me 

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, 
The lass that made the bed to me ' 

* A pillow. 



THE UNION. 

KVttB — 'such a parcel of rogues 

IN A NATION." 

Fareweel to a' Scottish fsune, 

Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 

Sae fara'd in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean. 
To mark where England's province 
stands ; 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation 1 

What guile or force could not subdue, 

Through many warlike ages. 
Is wrought now by a coward few. 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain. 

Secure in valour's station. 
But English gold has been our bane ; — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

O would, or had I seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour 

I'll mak this declaration. 
We're bought and sold for English 
gold:— 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

There was a bonnie lass, andabonnie, 
bonnie lass. 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie, 
dear; 
Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie 
frae her arms, 
Wi' monie a sigh and tear. 

Oversea, over shore, where the cannons 
loudly roar. 
He still was a stranger to fear: 
(ind nocht could him quell, or kis 
bosom assail. 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



MY HARRV WAS A GALLANT 
GAY. 

TUNE — " Highlander's lament." 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain ! 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see him back again. 



O for him back again, 
O for him back again, 
I wad gie a' Knocldiaspie's land,_ 
For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie up the glen ; 

I sit me down and greet my fill,_ 
And aye I wish him back again. 
O for him, &c. 

O were some villains hangit high. 
And ilka body had their ain. 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight. 
My Highland Harry back again ! 
O for him, &c. 



THE HERMIT.' 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines now 

reading. 
Think not, though from the world re« 

ceding, 
I joy my lonely days to read in 

This desert drear, — 
That fell remorse, a conscience bleed" 
ing. 
Hath led me here. 



No thought of guilt my bosom i 
Free-wilrd I fled from courtly bow'rs ; 
For well I saw in lialls and tow'rs. 

That lust and pride. 
The arch-fiend's dearest,darkestpow'rs, 

In state preside. 



' Written on a marble sideboard, is 
the Hermitage belonging to the Duk< 
of Athole, in the wood of Abrrfeldy. 



n^ORKS OF BURNS. 



I saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
I saw that honour's sword was rusted ; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That he was still deceiVd, who trusted 

To love, or friend ; — 
And hither came, with men disgusted 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly. 

Alike a foe to noisy folly, 

And brow-brent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

This rock my shield, when storms are 

blowing. 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing. 
Supplying drink, tht earth bestowing 

My simple food ; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 



Content and comfort bless me more in 
This grot, than e'er I felt before in 
A palace, — ^and with thoughts still soar- 
ing 
To God on high. 
Each night and mom with voice im- 
ploring. 
This wish I sigh : — 

Let me, O Lord, from life retire. 
Unknown each guilty, worldly fire. 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; — 

And when I die. 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly ! 

Stranger ! if full of youth and riot. 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw" st a scornful eye at 

The Hermit's prayer ; 
Bift if thon hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care, — 

I! thou hast known false love'* vex- 
ation, 
Si hast been exiled from thy nation. 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 

And makes thee pine — 
Oh S how must thou lament thy station. 

And envy niine r 



TIBBIE 1^ UN BAR. 

TUNE — "johnny M'gILL." 

O WILT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbii 
Dunbar? 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbk 

Dunbar 1 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, cir be drawn 

in a car. 
Or walk by my side, O tweet Tiblaa 

Dunbar? 

1 care na thy daddie, his lands and lui 

money, 
I care na thy kin, sae high and saa 

lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for better, 

for wanr. 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tib^ 

Dunbar ? 



WEE WILLIE. 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet ; 
Peel a willow-wand to be him booi« 

and jacket : 
The rose upon the brier will be hiia 

trouse and doublet. 
The rose upon the brier will be him 

trouse and doublet ! 
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet ; 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark 

and cravat ; 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up hig 

bonnet. 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up Vij 

bonnet. 



CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thea^ 

dearie. 

And O to be lying beyond thee ; 

O sweetly, soimdly, weel may ht 

sleep. 

That's laid in the bed beyond thea, 



KmtET closes tke evening on Craigie- 
bum Wood, 
And blithely awakens the morrow ; 
But the ijride of the spring in the 
Craigie-bum Wood 
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
Beyond thee, &c. 
I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

1 hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
Wbile care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, &c. 
I canna tell, I matm na tell, 
I dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart. 
If I conceal it langer. 

Beyond thee, &c. 
I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie, 
But oh, what will my torments be. 
If thou refuse my Johnnie ! 
Beyond thee, &c. 
To see thee in anither's arms. 
In love to lie and languish, 
Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, &c. 
But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mil 
Say, thou lo'es nane before me 
An' a' my days o' life to come, 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, &c. 



HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN 
WATER. 

TUNB— "the job of JOURNEY- 
WORK." 

Altho' my back be at the wa'. 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
Altho' my back be at the wa'. 

Yet, here's his health in water 
! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie he could flatter ; _ 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair. 

And dree the kintra clatter. 
But tho' my back be at the wa'. 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
But tho' my back be at the wa'. 

Yet here's his health in water 1 



AS DOWN THE BURN THtY 
TOOK THEIR WAY. 

As down the burn they took their way 
And thro' the flowery dale ; 

His cheek to hers he aft did Uy, 
And love was aye the tale. 

With " Mary, when shall we return. 

Sic pleasure to renew?" 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the bum. 

And aye shall follow you." 



LADY ONLIE. 

TUNE—" RUFFIAM's RANT." 

A' THE lads o* Thomie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Budcy, 
They'll step in an' tak' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky 1 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky j 
I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Budcy. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 

And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 

Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky 1 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



AS I WAS A WANDERING. 



As I was a wand'ring ae midsummei 
e'enin'. 
The pipers and youngsters were map 
kin' their game ; 
Amang them I spied my faithless fausa 
lover. 
Which bled a' the wounds o* my 
dolour again. 
Q 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Weel, since he has left me, my pleasure 
gae wi' him ; 
I may be distress'd, but I winna 
complain ; 
I flatter my fancy I may get anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken 
for ane. 

I could na get sleeping till dawin for 
greetin'j' 
The tears trickled down like the hail 
and the rain : 
tl ad I na got greetin', my heart wad a 
broken, 
For, oh ! love forsaken's a torment- 
ing pain. 
Although he has left me for greed o' 
the siller, 
I diima envy him the gains he can 
win; 
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my 
sorrow 
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to 

IVeel, since he has left me, may plea- 
sure gae vtd' him, 
I may be distress'c^ but I wnna 
complain ; 
I flatter my fancy I may get anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 

TUNB— " THE KILLOGIK." 

Bannocks o' bear" meal. 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley. 
Wha in a brulzie 

Will first cry a parley? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley 

Bannocks o' bear meal, 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 

' TiK dawn for weeping. ' Barley. 



Wha in his wae-days 
Were loyal to Charlie T 

Wha' but the lads wi' 
The bannocks o' barley. 



OUR THRISSLES' FLOURISITIM 
FRESH AND FAIR. 

TUNE — " AW A, WHIGS, AWA." 
CHORUS. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Wmgs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae good at a'. 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fas 
And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 

But Whigs came in like frost in Juoe, 
And wither'd a' our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust— 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha gae the AVhigs the power o't. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving ; 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse. 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 
But we may see hun wauken ; 

Gude help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor loum, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 



PEG-A-RAMSEY. 

TUNE— "CAULD IS THE e'ENH*' 
BLAST." 

Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
O' Boreas o'er the pool, 

And dawin' it is dreary. 

When birks are bare at Yuls. 

^ Thistles. 



O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 

When bitter bites the frost. 
And in the mirk and dreary drift 

The hills and glens are lost. 
Ne'er sae murky blew the night 

That drifted o'er the hill. 
But a bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey 

Gat grist to her mill. 



COME BOAT ME O'ER TO 
CHARLIE.' 

TUNE — " o'er the water TO 
CHARLIE." 

Comb boat me o'er, come row me o'er. 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
ni gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 
We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea. 
We'll o'er the water to CharUe ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather 
and go. 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 
I lo'e weel my CharUe's name, 

Tho' some there be abhor him : 
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame. 

And ChaiUe's faes before him ! 
I swear and vow by moon and stars, 

Aad sun that shines so early, 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 
We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 
We'll o'er the water to CharUe ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather 
and go ! 
And live or die wi' Charlie 1 



BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. 

TUNE— "gALLA water." 
CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O brav lads of Galla Water : 
m Vi. i.y coats aboon my knee, 

Aixi 'jUow my love through the 



Ai if song, restored by Bums. 



Sab fair her hair, sae brent ' her blow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou' 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae. 
O'er yon moss amang the heather; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love through the water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom,^ 

Down amang the broom, my deaii^ 
The lassie lost a silken snood, 
That cost her mony a bUrt and bleary ,■ 
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love through th« 



COMING THROUGH THE RYl, 



Coming through the rye, poor body. 

Coming through the rye, _ 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 

Coming through the rye. 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jennjr's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie^ 

Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the rye; 

Gin a body kiss a body- 
Need a body cry ? 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the glen, 

Gm a body kiss a body- 
Need the world ken? 

Jenny's a' wat, poor body ; 
Jenny's seldom dry; _ 

She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 
Coming through the rye. 



' Rfgh and smooth. 
" Outburst of grief. 

Q 3 



IVORKS OF £l/AI\fA 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

TUNE—" JACKY LATIN." 

Oat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething 1 
Eock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attoiir,'^ my gutcher^ has 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye, my bonnie sel'. 

The toss 3 of Ecclefechan. 

haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

haud your tongue and jauner ; * 

1 held the gate till you I met. 
Syne I be^an to wander : 

I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

But yovu: green graff, now, Luckie 
Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

TUNE— "had I THE WYTE SHE BADE 



Had I the wyte,5 had I the wyte. 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side. 

And up the loan 6 she shaVd me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben. 

And bade me make nae clatter ; 
" For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman 

Is out and ower the water :" 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace. 

When I did kiss and dawle^ her. 
Let him be planted in my place. 

Syne say I was the fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame, 
Could I for shame refuse her 1 



' Moreover. * GrandsCre. 3 Toast. 
* Talking. S Blame. 

6 Milking-place. ' Fondle. 



And wadna manhoM been to 

Had I unkindly used her 1 
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame,* 

And blue and bluidy bruised her ; 
When sic a husband was frae hame. 

What wife but had excused herf 
I dighted ay her een sae blue, 

Aad bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot it was I trow, 

I lighted on the Monday ; 
But I came through the Tysda/s d«[ 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



HEE BALOU." 

TUNE — " THE HIGHLAND BAI-OU." 

Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie,^ 
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie :♦ 
Travel the country thro' and thro'. 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : S 
HerryS the louns o' the laigh countree 
Syne 7 to the Highlands hame to me. 



HER DADDIE F<JRBAD. 

TUNE — " JUMPIN' JOHN." 

Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad 

Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't^ the browst shf 
brew'd 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' Jol 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 

The lang lad they ca'Jumpin' Jo* 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

' Instrument for dressing flax. 
" A child's lullaby. 3 Neck, 

4 Horse. S Succeed. 6 Pluid* 
? Then, s BeUcve »t. 



k uow and a catif, a yowe and a hauf, 

And thretty gude shillins and three ; 

k vera glide tocher, a cotter-man's 

dochter. 

The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY 
BONNIE LASS. 

TUNE— "LAGGAN burn." 

riERE's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae mair to thy bower door. 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink. 
But I can live without thee : 

k vrow and swear I dinna care 
How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me 
Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 

I'll be as free informing thee 
Nae time hae I to tarry. 

1 ken thy friends try ilka means, 
Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 

Depending on some higher chance^ 
But fortune may betray thee. 

I kffiQ they scorn my low estate. 

But that does never grieve me ; 
But I'm as free as any he, 

Snia' siller will relieve me. 
I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want. 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far-aff fowls hae feathers fair. 

And aye until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care. 

They may prove warn- than I am. 
Bat at twal <it night, when the moon 
shines bright, 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For die man that lo'es his mistress weel, 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



HEY, THE DUST r^^•-BR. 

TUNE— "the dusty MILLER." 

Hev, the dusty miller, 

And his dusty coat ; 

He will win a shilling. 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat,. 

Dusty was the colour. 
Dusty was the kiss 
That I got frae the miliar. 
Hey, the dusty miller. 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Brings the dustjr siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THE CARDIN' 0T.» 

TUNE— "salt fish and dumplingf." 

I COFT a stane o' haslock woo'. 

To make a wat ' to Johnny o't ; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 
The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't. 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a gjoat. 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray,3 
And tho' his brow be beld aboon ; 

Yet I hae seen him on a day. 
The pride of a' the parishen. 

' ' The little of this song to which 
antiquity lays claim, is so trifling thai 
the whole may be said to be the 
work of Bums. The tenderness ol 
Johnnie's wife can only be fully felt by 
those who know that hause-lock wool 
is the softest and finest of the fleece, 
and is shorn from the throats of sheep 
in the summer heat."— <4. Cunning 
ham. 

* An outer garment. 

3 Mingled with gray. 



trORKS OF BURNS. 



The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 

When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 



THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

TUNE— ^" MAGGY LAUDER." 

t MARRIED with a scolding wife 

The fourteenth of November ; 
She made me weary of my life. 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heavy yoke. 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke. 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years, 

A man and wife together ; 
At lengthfrom me her course she steer'd, 

And gone I know not whither : 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter, 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her ; 
But sure her soul is not in hell. 

The deil would ne'er abide her. 
1 rather think she is aloft. 

And imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE 
MARY. 

TUNB— "the ruffian's RANT." 

In coining by the brig ^ o' Dye, 

At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 
.\s day was dawin in the sky. 
We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 



Bridge. 



Her een sae bright, her brow sae white 
Her hafFet ' locks as brown's a berry 
An' aye they dimpled wi' a smile 
The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

We lap an' danced the lee-lang day. 

Till piper lads were wae an' weary 

But Charlie gat the spring to pay 

For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary, 



THE FAREWELL. 



It was a' for our rightfu' King, 
We left fair Scotland's strand ; 

It was a' for our rightfu' King, 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

My dear,— 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do. 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell. 

For I maun cross the main, 

My dear,— 

For I maun cross the main. 

He tum'd him right, and round about 

Upon the Irish shore : 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore. 

My dear, — 

With adieu for evermore. 
The sodger from the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again. 

My dear, — 

Never to meet again. 

' By the side of the head. 



When day is gane, and night is come. 
And a' folk bound to sleep ; 

I think on him that's far awa. 
The lee-lang night, and weep, 
My dear, — 

rbe lee-lang night, and weep. 



n IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE 
FACE. 

TVNB- -" THE maid's COMPLAINT.' * 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 

Nor shape that I admire. 
Although thy beauty and thy grace 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee, 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae. 

Nor stronger in my breast. 
Than if I canna mak thee sae. 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

TUNB—" JAMIE, COME TRY MB," 
CHORUS. 

Jamie, come try me ; 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

Ip thou should ask my love. 

Could I deny thee? 
If thou would win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee I 
If thou wad be my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 



Jamie, come tiy me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my lov*, 
Jamie, come try me. 



LANDLADY, COUNT THl 
LAWIN. 

TUNE — " HEY TUTTI, TAITI." 

Landlady, coimt the lawin,* 
The day is near the dawin ; 
Ye're a' blind dnmk, boys, 
And I'm but jolly fou. 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 

Cog an' ye were aye fou. 

Cog an' ye were aye fou, 

I wad sit and sing to you. 

If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the King, boys. 
And the companie ! 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A 
LASSIE YET.» 

TUNE—" LADY BADINGSCOTH'* 
REEL." 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa. 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O ; 

I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd,- 

But he may say he's bought her, 1 

' Reckoning. 

" This song and the following OM 
were only partly written by Bums. 



83^ 



WORKS UP BVRNS. 



Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will. 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 

We're a' dry wi' drinkmg o't ; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife. 

An' ctmld na preach for thinkin' o't. 



MY HEART WAS ANCE. 

TUNB — "to the weavers GIN 
YE GO." 

k;Y heart was ance as blythe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart^ me change my sang. 
To the weavers gin ye go, fair 
maids, 
To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the town, 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net. 

In every knot and thruin.^ 

I sat beside my warpin wheel. 

And aye I ca'd it roun' ; 
But ever shot and every knock, 

My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west, 

Wi' visage pale and wan. 
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Convoy'd me thro' the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra soon 

Will ken as weel's mysel. 



» Ma4<i. 

" Thread remaining at the end of a 
■eb. 



To the weavers gin ye go, fan 



To the weavers gin ye go ; 
rede^ you right, gang ne'er al 



night 
'o&e 



weavers gin ye go. 



LOVELY DAVIES." 

TUNE—" MISS MUIR." 

O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try 

The poet's occupation. 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours. 

That whisper inspiration ? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair 

Than aught they ever gave us. 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse. 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 
Each eye it cheers, when she app-iars, 

Like Phoebus in the morning, 
When past the shower, and ev'ry flowei 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae drops our heart when we maun part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. 

That maks us mair than princes ; 
A sceptr'd hand, a King's command. 

Is in her darting glances : 
The man in arms, 'gainst female charms^ 

Even he her willing slave is ; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reiga 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 
My muse to dream of such a theme. 

Her feeble powers surrenders ; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendours : 



; yovmgest 
of Tenby, 



^ Advise. 

* Deborah Davies, _ the 
daughter of Dr. Davies, 
South Wales. She was the victim oil 
an unrequited attachment for an officel 
who died abroad. In a letter to thi> 
lady, Bums calls woman " the blrxxt 
royal of life." 



I wad in vain sssay the strain. 
The deed too daring brave is ;_ 

111 drap the lyre, and mute admire 
The charms o' lovely Davies. 



KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. 



O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie t 
O, Kenmure's on and awa ! 

And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 
That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a AVhig, 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, 
WilUe ! 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kermiure's 
blude. 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie I 
O, Kenmure's lads are men ; 

Their hearts and swords are metal 
true — 
And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon wi"' sounding victorie. 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 
Here's him_ that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
Asd here's the flower that I lo'e best — 

The rose that's Uke the snaw. 



THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

TUNB — "O MOUNT AND GO." 
CHORUS. 

O, mount and go 
Mount and make you ready ; 

O, mount and go, 
And be the Captain's Lady. 



When the drums do beat. 
And the cannons rattle. 

Thou shalt sit in state, 
And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquish' d foe 

Sues for peace and quiet. 
To the shades we'll go. 
And in love enjoy it. 
O, mount and go. 
Mount and make you ready ; 

O, mount and go. 
And be the Captain's Lady. 



LADY MARY-ANN. 

TUNE— "CRAIGTOWN'S GROWINa* 

O, Lady Mary-Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa'. 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a' { 
My bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growing yet. 

O father ! O father 1 

An' ye think it fit. 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Round about his hat. 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary-Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew. 
Sweet was its smell. 

And bonnie was its hue t 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the hly in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young CharHe Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its malwf 
The sun took deUght 

To shine for its sake, 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yet. 



WORKS OF SifRN^. 



The simmer is gane 

■VVTien the leaves they were green. 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen ; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my bonnie laddie's young. 

But he's growin' yet. 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOWS 
LAMENT.^ 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Without a penny in my purse. 

To buy a meal to me. 
It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Feeding on yon hills so high. 

And giving milk to me. 
And there I had threescore o' yowes, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes. 

And casting woo' to me. 
I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

Sair, sair may I repine ; 
For Donald was the brawest lad. 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set us free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then. 

For Scotland and for me. 

ITieir waefu' fate what need I tell ? — 
Right to the wrang did yield : 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon Culloden's field. 

* I do not know on what authority 
Mr. Cunningham assigns this Jacobite 
»ong to Bums ; for I have heard old 
ladies sing it who remember its exist- 
ence anterior to the poet's time. — 
ttothermelL 



Oh ! I am come to th-,' low counlne^ 

Och-on, och-on, och-iie ! 
Nae woman in the war Id wide 

Sae wretched now as me. 



MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIW 
A HECKLE. 

TUNE— LORD BREADALBANK's 
MARCH." 

O MERRY hae I been teething a heckle. 
And merry hae I been shapin' a spson . 
O merry hae I been cloutin^ a kettle. 
And kissin' my Katie when a' was 
done. 
O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 
An' 8' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
An' a' the lang night I cuddle my kim- 
mer,3 
An' a' the lang night am as happy's 
a king. 

Bitter in dool I lickit mjr winnins, 

O' marrying Befs, to gie her a slave : 
Blest be the hour she cool'd in hef 
liimens. 
And blythe be the bird that sings on 
her grave. 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie ; 
An' come to my arms, and kiss me 
again ! 
Drunken «>i sober, here's to thee, Katie I 
An' blest be the day I did it again. 



RATTLIW ROARIN' WILLIE. 

TUNE — " RATTLIn', ROAKIN' WILLIB.' 

O rattlin,' roarin' Willie, 

O, he held to the fair. 
An' for to sell his fiddle. 

An' buy some other ware ; 
But parting wi' his fiddle. 

The saut tear blin't his e'e ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me I 



' A board with slu«»«»«el prongs fial 
dressing hemp. 
" Repairing. ^ Vaung oil 



O Willie, come «ell /our fiddle, 

sell your uddle sae fine ; 
O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If 1-diould sell my fiddle. 

The warl' would think I was n 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle ana I hae had. 
As I cam by Crochallan, 

1 cannily keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en' ; 
Sitting at yon board en',' 

And amang guid companie ; 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLVS 
SWEET. 

As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meet ; 
But O the road was very hard 
For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
O Mally's meek, Mall/s sweet, 

Maliys modest and discreet, 
Rally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 
It were more meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon. 
And 'twere more fit that she should sit 

Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
Her yellow hair, beyond compare. 
Comes trinkling^ down her swan- 
white neck. 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 
Would keep a sinking ship f rae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 



SAE FAR AWA. 

' DALKEITH MAIDEN BRIDGE.' 



O, SAD and heavy should I part. 
But for her sake sas far awa ; 



^. »3> 

Unknowing what my way may thwart, 
My native land sae far awa. 

Thou that of a' things Maker art. 
That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 

Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 
At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to pure desert. 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smaiT 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa ; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. 



O STEER HER UP. 



O, STEER ' her up, and haud hergaua-~ 

Her mother's at the mill, jo ; 
And gin she winna take a man. 

E'en let her take her will, jo : 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 

And ca' another gill, jo. 
And gin she take the thing amiss. 

E'en let ner flyte her fill, jo. 
O steer her up, and be na blaj«. 

An' gin she take it ill, jo. 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. 

And time nae longer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebuts^ 

But think upon it still, jo ; 
Then gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'll fin' anither will, jo. 



End. 



' TrickUng. 



O, WHARE DID YE GET. 

TUNE— "BONNIE DUNDEE." 

O, WHARE did ye get that hauvef^ 

meal'' bannock? 

O silly blind body, O dinna ye see? 

I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnk 

Dundee. 



Stir. 



«36 



l^^JilCS OF BURNS, 



gin L s.T,v the laddie that gae me't I 
Aft has he doodled me up on his knee; 

May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots 
laddie, _ 
And send him safe hame to his babie 



My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e 
brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger 
laddie, 
Thou's ay be dearer and dearer to 
me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie 
banks. 
Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
And I'll deed ^ thee m the tartan sae 
fine. 
And mak thee a man like thy daddie 
dear. 



THE FETE CHAMPiTRE." 

TUNE — " KILLIECRANKIK." 

O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man ? 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law ? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him 3 wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major? 

Come, will ye court a noble lord. 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
For worth and honour pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man ? 
And gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 

Anither gies them clatter ; 
Anbank,* wha guess'd the ladies' taste, 

He gies a F6te Champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news 
The gay green-woods 



» Clothe. 

" Given by Mr. Cunningham, of En- 
lerkin. 3 Boswell. 

* A place belonging to Mr. Cunning- 
kiun, and which, 5ter the Scottish cus- 
knn, bestows a name on the Laird. 



Where gathering flowers and 
bowers. 

They heard the blackbird's san^b 
man; 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss. 

Sir Politics to fetter 
As theirs alone, the pateiit-bliss. 

To hold a F6te Champgtre. 
Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring. 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man : 
She summon'd every social sprite, 

That sports by wood or water. 
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet. 

And keep this F6te Champfetre. 
Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew. 

Were bound to stakes likekye, maa; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams. 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through tb« 
trees. 

To view this F6te Champfitre. 
How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man 
To Harmony's enchanting notes, 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood. 

Like Paradise did glitter. 
When angels met, at Adam's yett,^ 

To hold their F6te Champfetre. 
When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane,^ man ! 
He circled round the magic groimd. 

But enti-auce found he nane, man : 
He blush'd for shame, he quat^ hii 
name. 

Forswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive F6te Champfetre. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIMK 

TUNE — " AY WAUKIN O." 

Simmer's a pleasant time. 
Flowers of ev'ry colour ; 



Gate. ' Adder-stone. 



I Quit 



The water rins o'et the heugh,' 
And I lo!ig for my true lover. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my deaiie. 

When I sleep I dream, 

When I wauk I'm eerie ; 
Bleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Ijasly night comes on, 

A] the lave are sleeping ; 
I think on my bonnie lad. 
And I bleer my een with greetin'. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 



THE BLUDE-RED ROSE AT 
YULE MAY BLAW. 

TUNE—" TO DAUNTON MJ?." 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw. 
The Simmer Ulies bloom in snaw. 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
But an auld man shall never daunton 
me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 

Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring 
tongue. 

That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 

For an auld man shall never daunton 



For a' his meal and a' his maut. 
For a his fresh beef and bis saut, 
For a' his gold and white monie. 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes. 
His gear may buy hi^ glens and 

knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nrr fee, 
For an auld man shall nwtx daunton 



Cn%. 



He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, 

Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld 

pow, 
And the raia rains down frae his red 

bleer'd e'e— 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 
To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring 

tongue. 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 



The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid and was fu' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie, 
His loyal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, Honour, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
For freedom and my King to fight 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
The sun a backward course shall tak* 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 
Ere aught thy manly courage shake ; 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go, for yoursel procure renown, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
And for your lawful King his crown ; 

Bonnie Highland laddie ! 



THE COOPER O' CUDDIE. 

TUNE — " BOB AT THE BOWSTER." 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa, 
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 



»3« 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 
That anger'd the silly guid-man, O. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 

Behind the door, behind the door ; 

We'll hide the cooper behind the doo^ 
And cover him under a mawn,^ O. 

Hesought them out, he sought them in, 

Wi', Deil hae her ! and, Deil hae him ! 

But the body was sae doited and blin',' 

He wist na where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd 

at mom. 
Till our guid-man has gotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn. 

And swears that they shall stan', O, 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 
Behind the door, behind the door. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 

And cover him under a mawn, O. 



THE TAILOR. 



The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a'. 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an a', 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets 

they were sma'. 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a'. 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded 

nae ill. 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded 

nae ill ; 
The weather was cauld, and the lassie 

lay still- 
She thought that a tailor .iuuio ao ner 

nae ill. 
Gie me the groat again, _<uuiyr yovmg 

man ; 
Gie me "iie groat agaii^, canny yoimg 

man; 
the day it is short, and the night it is 

lang, 
rhe dearest siller that ever I wan ! 



' Stupii*;d and blind. 



There's somebody weary wi' lying her 

lane; 
There's somebody weary wi' lying be» 

lane ; 
There's some that are dowie,* I trow 

wad be fain 
To see the bit tailor come skippiu' 



NITHSDALE'S W^ELCOME 
HAME, 

The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coming o'er the border. 
And they'll gae bigg^ Terreagle'i 
towers. 

An' set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terreagle's fair. 

For their abode they choose it ; 
There's no a heart in a' the land, 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

Tho' stars in skies may disappear. 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyful morrow ; 
So dawning day has brought relief—^ 

Fareweel oiu- night o' sorrow ! 



THE TITHER MORN. 

The tither mom. 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow, 

I'd see my jo. 
Beside me, 'gain the gloaming. 

But he sae trig 

Lap o'er the rig. 
And dawtingly did cheer me. 

When I, what reck. 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 
A thought ajee, 

* Worn with grief. " Bial 



Cock'd spnish when first he clasp'd me : 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' fainness grat, 
While in his grips he press'd me. 

Deil talc' the war ! 

I, late and air, 
Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad, 
\m short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen, 
When a' were blythe and merry, 

I cayd na by, 

Sae sad was I 
Id absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest. 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johiiny ; 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se ay be there. 
And be as cantys ony. 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN 
BRAES. 

TUNE—" KELLYBURN BRAES." 

There lived a carle on Kellybum braes, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme). 
And he had a wife was the plague o' 
his days ; 
And the thyine it is withered, and rue 
is in prime. 

Ae day as the carie gaed up the lang 
glen, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
He met wi'the Devil; says, "How do 
you fen?" 
And the thyme it is withered, and rue 
is in prime. 
" I've got a bad wife, sir ; that's a' my 
complaint, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi* 
thyme). 
For, saving yoiu* presence, to her ye're 
a saint;" 
\nd the thyme it is wither'dj and rue 
is in prime. 



1^. ax 

" It's neither your stot ' nor your staig* 
I shall crave, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 

thyme). 
But gie me your wife, man, for her I 
must have ;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and nw 
is in prime. 

"O welcome, most kindly," the blj'the 
carle said, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
" But if ye can match her, ye're waur 
nor ye're ca'd ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

The Devil has got the auld wife on his 
back, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi* 
thyme). 
And, like a poor pedler, he's carried 
his pack ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

He's carried her hame to his ain hall'Ui- 
door, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
Sjme bade her gae in, for a b — and a 
w — ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick 
o' his band, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme). 
Turn out on her guard in the clap of a 
hand; 
And the thjnne it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony 
wild 3 bear, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi 
tlxyme), 
Whae'er she gat hands on came new 
her nae mair ; 
Andthe thyme it is wither'd, and ran 
is in prime. 



Ox. 



Two-year old horse. 



Iwo-yi 

wai 



A. reekit ' wee Dovil looks over the wa', 
(Hey, and the rue grows bormie wi' 
thyme), 
" O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin 
us a' ; " 
And the thyme it is wither' d, and rue 
is in prime. 
The I'Jevil he swore by the edge o' his 
knife, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme). 
He pitied the man that was tied to a 
wife ; 
And the thyme it is wither' d, and rue 
is in prime. 
The Devil he swore by the kirk and the 
bell, 
(Hey, and the rue grows boimie wi' 
thyme). 
He was not in wedlock, thank heaVn, 
but in hell ; 
And the thyme it is wither" d, and rue 
is in prime. 
Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his 
pack, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme). 
And to her auld husband he's carried 
her back ; _ _ 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 
" I hae been a Devil the feck o' my 
life, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a 
wife ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 



WORKS OF BUKNS. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 

TUNE — "DUNCAN DAVISON." 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg 
And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 

fhere was a lad that foUow'd her. 
They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 



The moor was dreigli, ' and Meg ww 
skeigh,^ 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the roke she wad him knock, 

And ay she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green. 
Upon the banks they eased their shanks, 

And ay she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haly aith. 

That Meg should be a bride the morn ; 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,^ 

And flung them a' out o'er the burn. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee hoase. 

And we will live like King and Queen, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk ; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass. 

And ay be welcome back again. 



■ THE PLOUGHMAN. 

TUNE — " UP Wl' THE PLOUGHMAN.' 

The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, 

His mind is ever true, jo. 
His garters knit below his knee. 

His bonnet it is blue, jo. 



Then up wi't a', my ploughman ladL 
And hey, my merry ploughman ; 

Of a' the trades that I do ken. 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'e« 
He's aften wat and weary ; 

Cast off the wat, put on the dry. 
And gae to bed, my Dearie ! 
Up wi't a', &c. 

I will wash my ploughman's hose. 
And I will dress his o'erlay :* 

I will mak my ploughman's bed. 
And cheer him late and early. 



Up wi't a', &c. 



* Tedious. 
3 Gear. 



'Proud. 



f liae i^een east, I hae been west, 
I hac be ;n at Saint Johnston, 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw- 
Was th' ploughman laddie dancin'. 
Up wi't a', &c. 

Snaw-white stockins on his legs. 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A guid blue bannet on his head. 
And O, but he was handsome 1 
Up wi't a', &c. 

Coir-mend me to the barn yard. 
And the corn-mou, man ; 

t never gat my coggie fou 
Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
Up wi't a', &c. 



THE CARLES OF DYSART, 

TUNE — "hey CA' thro'." 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 

And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
And the kimmers' o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 
We hae tales to tell. 

And we hae sangs to sing ; 
We hae pennies to spend. 

And we hae pints to bring. 
We'll live a' our days. 

And them that come behin', 
Let them do the like. 
And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. 
For we hae mickle ado. 



WIARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN 
GRAY. 

TI;NE — " DUNCAN GRAY." 

J^EASV fa' you, Duncan Gray — 
ba, ha, the girdin o't ! 

' Gossips. 



Wae gae by j'ou, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play. 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day, 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 

And a' for the girdin o't. 
Bonnie was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, ' and baith my shoon ; 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin o't ! 
But, Duncan, gin ye'U keep your aith— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith. 
The beast again can bear us baith. 
And auld Mess John will mend the 
skaith,^ 

And clout the bad girdin o't. 



MY HOGGIE.3 



What will I do gin my Hoggie die ? 

My joy, my pride, my Hoggie ! 
My only beast, I had nae mae. 

And vow but I was vogie ! 4 
The lee-langnightwe watch'd thefaula, 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie '.S 
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa 

The blitter frae the boggie, 
The tod 6 repl/d upon the hill, 

I trembled for my Hoggie. 

' Lost the covering for tl,e head. 

' Damage. 

3 The hoggie, alias pet ewe, was 
Margaret Brodie, of Coxton, in Banff- 
shire. The song was taken down by 
Bums from the smging of an old woman 
in Liddesdale. — Buc/ian. 

♦ Vain. 5 Bushy. 6 Fo« 



tVTJRKS OF SURtfS. 



When day did daw, and cocks did craw. 
The morning it was foggie ; 

An unco tyke * lap o'er the dyke. 
And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 



WHERE HAE YE BEEN. 

TUNE — " KILUECRANKIE." 

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Where hae ye been sae brankie,^ 1 
O, whare hae ye been sae braw lad ? 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
An' ye had been whare I hae been. 

Ye wad na been so cantie, O ; 
An' yt had seen what I hae seen. 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
t fought at land, I fought at sea : 

At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,3 

An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled,4 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER, 

TUNE— "cock up your BEAVER.' 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town. 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 

Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver. 

And cock it fu' sprush. 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach better behaviour — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 



'Dog. 
' Furrow. 



Gaudy. 
♦Hawk. 



THE HERON BALLADS.' 

FIRST BALLAD. 

Whom will you send to London tows 

To Parliament and a' that? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that t 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Thro' Galloway and a' that, 
Where is the laird, or belted knigM 
That best deserves to fa' that ? 
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that ? 
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met. 
And has a doubt of a' that ; 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ; 
The independent patriot. 
The honest man, an' a' that. 
Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix. 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 
But why should we to nobles jouk J 

And it's against the law that ; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that 1 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang ovu^els. 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that ! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' soli 
Like naigs, an' nowt, au' a' that. 

^ This is the first of several balkdl 
which Bums wrote to serve Patrick 
Heron, of Kerroughtree, in two eleo 
tions, in svhich he was opposed, first by 
Gordon, of Balmaghie, and secondlj 
by the Hon. Montgomery StewarL— 
Allan Cunningham. 



?hen let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that. 
Our representative to be. 
For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as he. 
They would be blest that saw that. 



THE ELECTION. 

SECOND BALLAD. 

fv, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 

Fcr there will be bickerin' there ; 
Foi Murray's light-horse are to muster. 

And O, how the heroes will swear ! 
An' there will be Murray commander, 

And Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each 
other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 
Ka' there will be black-lippit Johnnie, 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
tin' he get na hell for his haddin'. 

The Deil gets na justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 

A boy no sae black at the bane. 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune. 

We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

tm' there will be Wigton's new sheriff, 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped. 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 

But, Lord, what's become o' the head ? 
An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A wight that will weather damnation, — 

For the Devil the prey will despise. 
An' there will be Douglasses doughty. 

New chrisl'ning towns far and near ! 
Abjuring their democrat doings. 

By kissing the o' a peer ; 

An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous. 

Whose honour is proof to the storm ; — 
Co save them from stark reprobation. 

He lent them his name to the firm. 
But we winna mention Redcastle, 

The body, e'en let him escape ! 
He'd venture the gallows for siller. 

An' twere na the cost o' the rape. 



^o. 243 

An' where is our Khig'slordlieutiaant, 
Sae fam'd for liis gratefu' return I 

The billie is gettin' his qt'estionsi. 
To say in St. Stephen'* the mom. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead, wha's as gude as he's true; 
An' there will be Buittle's apostle, 

Wha's more o' the black than the blue; 
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note. 
The Deil ane but honours themhighty,— 

The Deil ane will gie them his vote 1 

An' there will be wealthy young Rich- 
ard, 

Dame Fortune should hing by tha 
neck; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing. 

His merit had won him respec' : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs. 

Though nabobs, yet men of the hrst, 
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers. 

An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johimie, 

Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
Ah' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam ; 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtrec, 

Whose honour was ever his Law ; 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel. 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

An' can we forget the auld major, 

Wha'U ne'er be forgot in the Greys ; 
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other. 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran, 

And also Barskimming's gude knight. 
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 

An' there, frae the Niddesdale's border. 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves , 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' 
Walie, 

That griens ' for the fishes an' loaves ; 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there. 
An also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 



Longs. 
R ■ 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Then -ey the chaste interest o' Brough- 
ton. 

An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring! 
It may send Balmaghie to the Com- 
mons, 

In Sodom 'twould make him a King ; 
Aji' hey for the sanctified Murray, 

Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd ; 
He founder'd his horse among harlots, 

But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

THIRD BALLAD. 

Wha Will buy my troggin,' 

Fine election ware : 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair ? 
Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

Theie's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown, 
For an auld sang — 

It's thought the gudes were stown. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughton 

In a needle's e'e ; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint by Balmaghie. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald— 

Sae was never worn. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the stuff and lining, 

C Cardoness' head ; 
Fine for a sodger, 

A' the wale o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 



' T^'oegin is the merchandise of 
intTelling hawker. 



Here's a little wadset, 

Buittle's scrap o' truth, 
Pawn'd in a gin-shop. 

Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, && 
Here's armorial bearings 

Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
The crest, an auld crab-apple 

Rotten at the core.* 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 
Here is Satan's picture. 

Like a bizzard gled," 
Pouncing poor Redcastle 

Sprawlin' as a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 
Here's the worth and wisdom 

CoUieston can boast ; 
By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Murray's fragments 

O' the ten commands ; 
Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 
Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Homie's turnin' chapman, — 

He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin, &c 



YE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

TUNE—" SHAWNBOY." 

Yb sons of old Killie, assembled bj 
Willie, 
To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scatcesuclt 
another 
To sit in that honoured station. 
I've little to say, but only to pray,_ 

As praying's the ton of your fashion 
A prayer from the Iviube you may weS 



'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 



' The allusion is to Dr. Muirhead 
Minister of Urr. ' Hawk 



f e powers who preside o'er the wind 

and the tide, 
Wh J marked each element's border ; 
'iVho formed this frame with beneficent 
aim. 
Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
Within this dear mansion may way- 
ward contention 
Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
May secrecy round be the mystical 
bound. 
And brotherly love be the centre 1 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME.' 

TUN« — " YK JACOBITES BY NAME.' 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, | 
give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name, ^ve an ear ; | 
Ye Jacobites by name. 

Your fautes I will proclaim. 
Your doctrines I maun blame— 
You shall hear. 

What is right and what is wraug, by 
the law, by the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang by 
the law ? 
What is right and what is wi-ang ? 
A short sword and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

' Burns founded this song on some 
old verses, in which it was intimated 
that the extinction of the House of 
Stuart was sought for by other weapons 
than the sword. It cannot be denied 
that if the House of Hanover had the 
affection of the people and the law of 
the land on their side, the exiled princes 
had the best poetry. This may be ac- 
counted for. The romantic adventures 
ind daring exploits and deep sufferings 
af Prince Charles enlisted sympathy 
on his side ; and the minstrels, regard- 
bg his fate and that of his brave com- 
panions as furnishing matter for poetry 
»n!y, sui.g with a pathos and force 
which viUl liValy be 1 )ng remembered. 
-A. C. 



Ui, 345 

What makes heroic strife, fam'd afarj 
fam'd afar ? 
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar f 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife. 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 
Then let your schemes alone, in th« 
state, in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone in tba 
state ; 
Then let your schemes alone^ 
Adore the rising sun. 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



SONG— AH, CHLORIS. 

TUNE—" MAJOR GRAHAM." 

Ah, Chloris, since it may na be. 
That thou of love wUt hear •; 

If from the lover thou maun flee. 
Yet let the friend be dear. 

Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell ; 

My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say I'll wish thee well : 

Tho' a' my daily care thou art. 
And a' my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart. 
And say it is esteem. 



EXTEMPORE ANSWER TO AM 
INVITATION. 



The King's most humble servasi f, 
CaT scarcely spare a minute ; 



My bottle is my holy pool. 
That heals the wounds o' care aa' doat 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it, ye'U find him ouL 



WORKS OF BURNS 



KATHARINE JAFFRAY. 

There liv'd a lass in j onder dale. 

And down in yonder glen, O, 
And Katharine JafFray was her name, 

Weel known to many men, O. 
Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 

Out frae the south countrie, O, 
All for to court this pretty maid. 

Her bridegroom for to be, O. 
He's tell'd her fathei and mother baith. 

As I hear sindry say, O, 
But he has na tell'd the lass hersel, 

1 ill on her wedding day, O. 
rhen cam the Laird o' Lochinton, 

Out frae the English border, 
All for to court this pretty maid. 

All mounted in good order. 



THE COLLIER LADDIE. 

O WHARE live ye, my bonsjifc'lass. 
And tell me how they ca' ye ? 

My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow my Collier laddie. 

see ye not yon hills and dales. 
The sun shines on sae brawlie : 

They ^'are mine, and they shall be 
thine, 
Gin ye'U leave your Collier laddie. 

And ye shall gang in rich attire, 

Weel buskit up fu' gaudy ; 
And ane to wait at every hand. 

Gin ye'U leave your Collier laddie. 

Iho' ye had a' the sun shines on. 
And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 

1 would turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier laddie. 

[ can win my five pennies in a day, 

And spend it at night fu' brawlie ; 
E can mak my bed in the Collier's neuk, 

And lie down wi' my Collier laddie. 
Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 

Tho' the wee cot-house should baud 
me ; 
*nd the warld before me to win my 
bread. 

And fare fa' my Collier laddie. 



WHEN I THINK ON THOSl 
HAPPY DAYS. 



When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us licj 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours. 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by^. 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



EPPIE M'NAB. 

O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppi* 

M'Nab? 
O saw ye my diarie. my Eppia 

M'Nab? 
She's down in the yara, she's kissin 

the laird : 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock 

Rab. 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 
Whate'er thou has done, be it late, be 

it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock 

Rab. 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab ? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab? 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee 

forgot. 
And for ever disowns thee, her aiu Jock 

Rab. 
O had I ne'er seea thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppia 

M'Nab! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou'l 

fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock 

Rab. 



ro CHLORIS.' 

Behold, _my love, how green the groves. 

The primrose banks how fair ; 
rhe balmy gales awake the flow'rs, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay. 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to Kings. 

I^t minstrels sweep the skilfu' string. 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
ITie shepherd stops his simple reed 

Blythe in the birken shaw. 
The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours. 

Beneath the milk-white thorn f 
The shepherd, in the flowery glen. 

In shepherd's phrase will woo ; 
The courtier tells a finer tale. 

But is his heart as true ? 
These wild wood flow'rs I've pu'd to 
deck 

That spotless breast o' thine ; 
The courtier's gems may witness love. 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



AN' O I MY EPPIE. 



my Eppie, 
Ep ■ 



An-OI 

My jewel, my ii-ppie ' 

Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
By love, and by beauty. 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair ! 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 
Wi' Eppie Adair? 

* On my visit the other day to my 
lair Chloris, she suggested an idea, 
which I, on my retvim from my visit, 
wrought into the following song. How 
do you like the simplicity and tender- 
«ess of this pastoral?— R. B., Mv., 
•794- 



A' pleasure exile me, 

Disnonour defile me. 

If e'er I beguile thee. 

My Eppie Adair ! 



GUDEE'N TO YOU, KIMMER. 

Gudek'n to you, Kimmer, 

And how d'ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo' Kimmer, 
The better that I am fou. 
We're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin. 
We're a' noddin at our house il 
hame. 
Kate sits i' the neul^ 

Suppin hen broo ; 
Deil tak Kale 
An' she be na noddin too 1 
We're a' noddin, &c. 
How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't. 
And twa pints mair. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 
How's a' wi' you, Kimmer. 

And how do ye thrive ; 
How mony bairns hae ye ? 
Quo' Kimmer, I hae five. 
We're a' noddin, &c 
Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
Twa o' them were gotten 
When Johnny was awa. 
We're a' noddin, &c 
Cats like milk. 

And dogs like broo ; 
Lads like lasses weel. 
And lasses lads too. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 



O WAT YE WHA THAT LCES 

ME. 

TUNE— " MORAG." 

O WAT ye wha that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keepingt 



WORKS OF BURNi^. 



O sweet is she that lo'es me. 
As dews o' summer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping : 

O that's the lassie o' my heart. 
My lassie, ever dearer ; 

O that's the queen o' woman-kind. 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie. 
In grace and beauty charming ; 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming : 
O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast heard her talking. 
And thy attention's plighted. 

That ilka body talking. 
But her, by thee is slighted. 
And thou art all delighted : 
O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one, — 
When frae her thou hast parted. 

If every other fair one. 
But her, thou hast deserted. 
And thou art broken-hearted : 
O that's the lassie, &c. 



THERE'S NEWS, LASSES. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Gude news I have to tell. 
There's a boat fu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 
The wean wants a cradle. 

And the cradle wants a cod,* 
And I'll no gang to my bed 
Until I get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 

Do what you can, 
I'll nae gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 
The wean, &c. 
I hae as gude a craft rig 

As made o' yird and stane ; 
And waly fa' the ley-crap. 

For I maun till't again. 
The wean, &c. 



Pillow. 



O THAT I HAD NE'ER 
MARRIED. 

O THAT I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns. 
An' they cry crowdie ' ever mair. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 
Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away 
Waefu' want and hunger fley^ me, 

Glowerin by the hallan en' ; 
Sair I fecht^ them at the door. 
But ay I'm eerie they come ben. 
Ance crowdie, &c. 



FRAE THE FRIENDS AND 
LAND I LOVE.* 

Frae the friends and land I love. 

Driven by Fortune's felly S spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove, 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care ; 
When remembrance wracks the minO, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 
Brightest climes shall mirk appear. 

Desert ilka blooming shore. 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe, 

Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
Till Revenge wi' laurel'd head 

Bring our banished hame again ; 
And ilk loyal, bonnie lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 

' Oatmeal, water, and butter. 

* Scare. 3 Fought. 

^ Bums, in his notes on the " Musi- 
cal Museum," says of this song, '_' ! 
added the last four lines by way of giv- 
ing a turn to the theme of the poem 
such as it is." It has been suggested 
by his editors, that Burns mended hu 
song as the Highlander mended hit 
gun, by giving to it a new stock, a new 
lock, and a new barrel. 

S Relentless, 



THS TWA HERDS. 



'A-* 



SCROGGAM. 



There \f i.s a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, 

Scrog^am ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down bj me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 
The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither ; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me. 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufium. 
They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the lane might cool 

the tither; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufium. 



THE TEARS I SHED.» 

The tears I shed must ever fall ; 

I mourn not for an absent swain. 
For thought may past delights recall. 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead. 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er. 
And those they lord their steps shall 
tread. 

And death shall join to part no more. 

rho' boundless oceans roU'd between. 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads each scene. 

Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by Death's cold hand re- 
mov'd. 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb. 
To think that even in death he lov'd. 

Can gild the horrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter are the tears 
Of her who slighted love bewails ; 

No hope her dreary prospect cheers. 
No pleasing melancholy hails. 

* The first four lines of the last stanza 
were added by Bums ; the song being 
rtie composition of Miss Cranstoun, 
tiftenvards the wife of Dugald Stewar-. 



Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy : 
The prop, she lean'd on, pierc'd hei 
side ; 

The flame, she fed, bums to destroy. 
In vain does memory renew. 

The hours once ting'd in transport'* 
dye; 
The sad reverse soon starts to view. 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to every feeling due • 
Ungenerous youth ! diy boast how pootj 

To steal a heart, and break it too ! 
No cold approach, no alter'd mien. 

Just what would make suspicion 
start; 
No pause the dire extremes between. 

He made me blest — ^and broke my 
heart! 
From hope, the wretched's anchor, 
torn. 

Neglected, and neglecting all. 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn. 

The tears I shed must ever fall. 



THE TWA HERDS.' 

Blockheads with reason wicked witt 

abhor. 
But Fool with Fool is barbarous civil 

war. — Pope. 

O a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed in pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox. 
Or worrying tykes f ^ 



' The Twa " Herds " -^ere the mii> 
ister of Riccarton, and the assistant- 
minister of Kilmarnock, whose contro- 
verstial animosity burst out in blows 
during a walk home after a " Sacra- 
ment" sermon. Burns recorded the 
feat of arms in a " burlesque lamenta- 
tion," which, as he informs us, with a 
certain description of the clergy, aa 
well as laity, met with a roar of ap- 
plause. Burns gave a copy to a friend, 
and professed ignorance of the writer 

" Dogs. 



U^ORKS OF BURNS. 



Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,' 

About the dykes? 
The twa beat herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast. 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

O, dool to tell ! 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 

O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle,_ 
Ye'll see how New-light herds will 
whistle, 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle. 

Sin' I ha'e min'. 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit 

Vour duty ye wad sae negleckit, 

Ve wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit. 

To wear the plaid. 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Hoodie's flock could 

rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 

He let them taste ; 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they 
drank, — 

O' sic a feast ! 

The thummart," wil'-cat, brock, and 

tod,3 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in. 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 

What herd like Russell tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard thro' muir and 

dale. 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail. 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale. 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 
Or nobly fling the gospel club. 



* Stray sheep and old ewes. 
Pole-cat. 3 Badger and fox. 



And New-light herds could «icelj 
drub, 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them owre the burninc 
dub,^ 

Or heave them in. 
Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't. 
Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
An' names, like "villain," "hypo 
crite," 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While New-light herds wi' langhis 
spite. 

Say " neither's lien" ! 
A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 
There's Duncan deep, and Feeble* 

shaul,'^ 
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee. 
That thou wilt work them, het and 
cauld, 

Till they agree. 
Consider, Sirs, how we're beset ; 
There's scarce a new herd that we ge^ 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I winna name ; 
I hope frae Heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 
Dalrymple has been lang our fae, 
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae, - 
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae, 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mis* 

chief. 
We thought aye death wad bring relief 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'U soundly buff our beef; ' 

I meikle dread him. 
And mqnie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang ourscl. 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill,* 

And that ye'll fin'. 



^ Pond. 

3 Give us a severe 

* Unfit for a pen. 



» Shallow. 



tlOLY frJjt^^lU'S PRAYER. 



! a' ye flocks, owre a' the hills. 
By mosses, meadows, moors and fells. 
Come join your counsels and your 
skills. 

To cowe the lairds. 
And get the brutes the power themsels 

To chnose their herds. 
Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
And Learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish'd owre the seas to France ; 

Let him bark there. 

TLen Shaw's and D'rymple's elo- 
quence, 
M 'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense. 

And guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can 



glance, 
M; 



ay a' pack aff. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.' 

O Thou, wha in the Heavens dost 

dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel'. 
Sends ane to Heaven, and ten to Hell, 

A' for thy glory. 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 



* Sir Walter Scott regarded Holy 
Willie's Prayer as "a piece of satire 
more exqmsitely severe than any which 
Binns afterwards wrote." The Poet 
assures us that it alarmed " the Kirk- 
Sessions so much, that they had several 
meetings to look over their spiritual 
artillery." The hero of the poem was a 
farmer, William Fisher, near Mauch- 
line, said to be very pharisaic and 
hypocritical ; one of that class of pro- 
fessors whom Sterne described as mak- 
ing every stride look like a check on 
their desires. Fisher was an elder in 
the kirk, and had offended Bums by 
lis persecution of Mr. Hamilton, who 
Bjoughtlessly set a beggar to work in 
»is garden on a_ Sunday morning, and 
Ms xiccmmunicated in consequence. 



I bless and praise thy matchless might 
Whan thoiisands thou hast left in nigbt 
That I am here afore thy sight. 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get such exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve such just damnation, 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plung'd me into HeU, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail. 

In bumin' lake, 
Where damned Devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample. 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example 

To a' thy flock. 

O L— d, thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinkers drink, and swearcit 

swear, 
And singin there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great an' sma' ; 
For I am keepit by thy fear. 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O L— d ! confess I must. 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust. 
An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust,-« 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 

O L— d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg«=« 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! may 't ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour. 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ; 

But, L — d, that Friday I was fou. 

When I came near her. 
Or else thoti kens thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd tMf 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



May be thou lets this fleshly thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and mom. 
Lest he owre high and proud should 
turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d, bless thy chosen in this place. 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
But G — d confound their stubborn face, 

. And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace. 
An' p iblic shame. 

L^-<1, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts. 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at 

cartes. 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 

Wi' great an' sma', 
Frae God's ain priests the people's 
hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An' when we chasten'd him therefore. 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,^ 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us ; — 
Curse thou his basket and his store. 

Kail and potatoes. 

L — d, hear my earnest cry an' pra^r. 
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 
Thy strong right hand, L — d, make it 
bare, 

Upo' their heads ; 
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare. 

For their misdeeds. 

O L— d my G — d, that glib-tongu'd 

Aiken, 
My very heart and saul are quakin, 
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, 

_ An' swat wi' dread. 
While he wi' hinging lips gaed snakin. 
And hid his head. 

L- -d, in the day of vengeance try him : 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him. 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em. 

Nor hear their pra^r : 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em. 

And dinna spare. 



'Riot. 



But, L — d, lemember me and moM 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shim 

Excell'd by nane. 
An' a' the glory shall be thinej 

Amen, Amen.* 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 



Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Tales up Its last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as surs's a gxm. 
Poor silly body, see hi»i ; 

Nae wonder he's as black's the grun 
Observe wha's standing wi' hmj. 

Your brunstane devilship, I see. 
Has got him there before ye ; 

But baud your nine-tail cat a-wee. 
Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore. 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er. 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me. Sir, deil as ye art;. 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it. 



* Against some passages it has been 
objected that they breathe a spirit of 
irreligion. But if we consider the ig- 
norance and fanaticism of the lower 
class of people when these poems were 
written, a fanaticism of that pernicious 
sort which sets faiih in opposition to 
good works, the fallacy and danger of 
which a mind so enlightened as our 
poet's could not but perceive, we shall 
not look upon his lighter Muse as the 
enemy of religion, though she has some- 
times been a little unguarded in bet 
ridicule of hypocrisy.—^. Mackenzie, 
—(The " Lounger," No. 97.) 



EPIGRAMS, &>€. 



LI^ES WRITTEN EXTEMPORE 
IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. 

Grant me, indulgent HeaVa, that I 

may live, 
To see the miscreants feel the pains 

they give ; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free 

as air, 
T2' slave and despot be but things 

which were. 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO 
J. RANKINE. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a', 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither. 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma'. 

Breaks a' thegither. 
I hae been Ui for't ance or twice, 
And winna say owre far for thrice. 
Vet never met vidth that surprise 

That broke my rest. 
But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SCARING SOME WATER 
FOWL IN LOCH-TURIT, A 
WILD SCENE AMONG THE 
HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake. 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly 1 
Why disturb your social joys. 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
tide the surging billow's shock. 



Conscious, bluwJng for our racj, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace : 
Man, your proud, usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong Necessity compels. 
But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying HeaVn, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains. 
Only known to wandering swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
Far from human haunts and ways. 
All oil Nature you depend. 
And life's poor season peaceful spend 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave. 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



A TOAST.' 



Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you 

. a Toast,— 
Here's the memory of those on the 

twelfth that we lost : 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by 

HeaVn, that we found ; 
For their fame it shall last while the 

world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you 

the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high 

may he swing ! 
And here's the grand fabric, our frea 

Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great RevO" 

lution. 



' Given on occasion of the celebra- 
tion of the naval victory, April ra, 178a 



•54 



k* or BURNS. 



And, longer with Politics not to be 

cramm'd. 
Be Anarchy cius'd, and be Tyranny 

d — ^"d ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove 

disloyal. 
May his son be a hangman, and he his 
' first trial! 



EPIGRAM. 

Onk Queen Artemisia, as old stories 

tell, 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved 

so well. 
In respect for the love and affection 

he'd shown her, 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank 

up the powder. 
But Queen Netherplace, of a difi'rent 

complexion, 
WTien call'd on to order the fun'ral 

direction. 
Would have eat her dear lord, on a 

slender pretence. 
Not to show her respect, but — to save 

the expense. 



ANOTHER.' 

Whob'br he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case. 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, his Grace." 
There's naething here but Highland 
pride. 

And Highland scab and hunger ; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in in anger. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL 
SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair? 
Flit, Galloway, and find 

* Written at Inverary. 

* The Duke of Argyll. 



Some narrow, diity, du 
The picture of thy m 



ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fi 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME.' 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 
So ended in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME, 



Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand. 

For thou hast none to give. 



VERSES TO J. RANKINE. 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl. 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtiej^ motley squad. 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination^ 
And thieves of every rank and statioiv 
From him that wears the star and garter. 
To him that wintles^ in a halter ; 
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches 
He mutters, glowrin at the ' 



' These were some of the satiric* 
fruits of the Heron cont^t. _ 
^ Confusedly mixed. 



EPiGRAnTi, EPITAPHS, &'c 



' By G — I'll not be seen behint them. 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present 

them. 
Without, at least, ae honest man. 
To grace this d---d infernal clan." 
By AdamhiU a glance he threw, 
"Lr— G— !" quoth he, "I have it 

now. 
There's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 



EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFU- 
SION, ON BEING APPOINTED 
TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och, hon ! the day ! 
That clartie^ barm should stain my 
laurels ; 
But— what'U ye sayt 
These movin' things, ca'd wives and 

weans, 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! 



ON HEARING THAT THERE 
WAS FALSEHOOD IN THE 
REV. DR. B ^'S VERY LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny : 
They say their master is a knave^ 

And sure they do not lie. 



POVERTY. 



Im politics if thou wouldst mix. 
And mean thy fortunes be ; 

e«ar this in mind, —be deaf and 
blind. 
Let great folks hear and see. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN 
CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE. 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schoolin' o' your weana. 

For clever Deils he'll mak them I 



WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. 
KEMBLB, ON SEEING HER IN THI 
CHARACTER OF VARICO. 

Dumfries Theatre, 17941 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had flow'd. 



Dirty, 



I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood. 
Life-giving war to Venus. 

The deities that I adore 
Are social Peace and Plenty ; 

I'm better pleased to make one more^ 
Than be the death of twenty. 



WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT 
THE king's ARMS TAVERN, DUMFRIES, 

Ye men of wit and wesdth, why all this 

sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen ? give the causa 

a hearing; 

What are your landlords'rent-rolls ? tax- 
ing ledgers : 

What premiers, what? even Monarch'i 
mighty gaugers : 

Nay, what are pnests, those seeming 
godly wise men? 

What are they, pray, but spiritwi E» . 



■s« 



WORKS OF B-JRNS. 



The greybeard. Old Wisdom, may 
boast of his treasures. 
Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time- 
settled pleasures. 
But Folly has raptures to give- 



Ckasb, ye prudes, your envious railing, 
Lovely Bums has charms— confess : 

True it is, she had one failing. 
Had a woman ever less ? 



O THOU, whom Poetry abhors. 
Whom Prose had turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no 

further, 
Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murder. 



t>I( A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITB SO 
WISE AS SOLOMON. 

Bless the Redeemer, O Cardoness, 

With grateful lifted eyes. 
Who said that not the soul alone. 

But body, too, must rise : 

I'or had He said, "The soul aloce 
From death I will deUver," 

Alas ! alas ! O Cardoness, 
Then thov badst slept for ever 1 



EPITAPH 

ON WEE JOHNNY.* 

Hie jacet wee Johnny. 
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, kno^r 

That death has murder'd Johnny] 
An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



EPITAPH . 

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

Here sowter* Hood in Death dee* 
sleep ; 
To h— 1, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 
'11 haui 



He'l 



ud it weel thegither. 



EPITAPH 

FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much loVd, much honoured 

name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



EPITAPH 

for GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

The poor man weeps — here Gavii 
sleeps, _ 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 
But with such as he, where'er he be. 

May I be saVd, or d— 'd ! 



EPITAPH ON MY FATHER. 

O ye, whose cheek the tear of laty 

Draw near with pious rev'rence and 
attend I 



' John Wilson, who printed an edidtNi 
of Bums's Poems. " Shoemaker. 



EPITAPHS. 



Here He the loving husband's dear re- 
mains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous 
friend ; 

I he pitying heart that felt for human 
woe ; 
The dauntless heart that fear'd no 
human pride ; 
''.'he friend of man, to vice alone a foe, 
" For ev'n his failings lean'd to vir- 
tue's side." 



Here lies J ohnny Pidgeon ; 

What was his religion ? 

WTia e'er desires to ken, 

To some other warl' 

Maun follow tha carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane 1 

i Strong ale was ablution, 

JJmall beer persecution, 

J I dram was memento mori ; 

Hut a full flowing bowl 

IVas the saving his soul. 

And port was celestial glory. 



EPITAPH 



H IRE lies John Bushby, honest man, 
Cl'.eat him. Devil, if you can. 

' " Went to the churchyard where 
Bums is buried. A booksellei; accom- 
paaied us. Went on to visit the grave. 
'Ihere,' said the bookseller to us, 
pointing to a pompous monument a 
few yards off, 'there Ues Mr. John 
Bushby, a remarkably clever man ; be 
was an attorney, and hardly ever lost 
% cause he undertook. Bums made 
many a lampoon upon him, and there 
Ihey rest, as you see.' " — Memoirs of 
Wordjworih, i, 214. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 
Is there a whim-inspired fool, 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule^ 
Owre blate' to seek, owre proud to 
snool,'' 

Let him di-aw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool. 

And drap a tear. 
Is there a Bard of rustic song. 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong. 

Here, heave a sign. 
Is there a man whose judgment clear,9 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear 

Survey this grave. 
The poor Inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 
And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 
Reader, attend— whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole^ 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 

^ Bashful. _ ' Submit tamely. 

3 Bums might have remembered 
Goldsmith's picture of an author : — ^A 
child oi the public he is in all respects ; 
for while he is so able to direct others, 
how incapable is he frequently found 
of guiding himself ! His simplicity ex- 
poses him to all the insidious approaches 
of cunning ; his sensibility to the 
slightest invasions of contempt. Though 
possessed of fortitade to stand un- 
moved the expected bursts of an earth 
quake, yet of feelings so exquisitely 
poignant, as to agonize under the 
slightest disappointment.— 7'A«/'rc?ff«i 
State of Polite Learning, chafUr X. 



GLOSSARY 



The ck and gk have always the guttural sound. The sound of the ELglish diph- 
thong 00, is commonly spelled au. The French a, a soimd which often occun 
in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. The a in genuine Scottish wordsj 
except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an ^ mute after a singta conson- 
ant, sounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong 
ae always, and ea very often, sound like the French e masculine. The Scottish 
diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei. 



A'.AU 

Aback, away, aloof 

Abeigh, at a shy distance 

Aboon, above, up 

Abread, abroad, in sight 

Abreed, in breadth 

Addle, putrid water, &c. 

Ae, one 

Aff, off; Aff loof, unpremeditated 

Afore, before 

Aft, oft 

Aften, often 

Agley, off the right line ; wrong 

Aiblins, perhaps 

Ain, own 

Airle-penny, Airles, earnest money 

Aim, iron 

Aith, an oath 

Aits, oats 

Aiver, an old hotse 

^zle, a hot cinder 

Alake, alas 



Akwart, awkwaid 
Amaist, almost 



An', and ; if 

Ance, once 

Ane, one ; and 

Anent, over againyt 

Anither, another 

Ase, ashes 

Asklent, asquint ; aslant 

Asteer, abroad ; stirring 

Athart, athwart 

Aught, possesion ; as, In a' my auglu, 

in all my possession 
Auld lang syne, olden time, days d 

other yean 
Auld, old 
Auldfarran, or, auld farrant, sagaciov 

cimning, prudent 
Ava, at all 
Awa', away 
Awfu' awfvil 
Awn, the beard of barley, oats, &c 



GLOSSARY. 



'^wnie, bearded 
(Vyont, beyond 

BA', Ball 

Backets, ash boards 

Backlins, coming ; coming back, re- 
turning 

Back, returning 

Bad, did bid 

Baide, endured, did stay 

Baggie, the belly 

Bainie, having large bones, stout 

Sttirn, a child 

Paimtime, a family of children, a 
brood 

Raith, both 

Ban, to swear 

Bane, bone 

Bang, to beat ; to strive 

Bardie, diminutive of bard 

Barefit, barefooted 

Barmie, of or like barm 

Batch, a crew, a gang 

Batts, hots 

Baudrons, a cat 

Bauld, bold 

Bawk, bank 

Baws'nt, having a white stripe down 
the face 

Be, to let be ; to give over ; to cease 

Bear, barley 

Beastie, diminutive of beast 

Beet, to add fuel to fire 

Beld, bald 

Belyve, by and by 

Ben, into the spence or parlour; a 
spence 

Benlomond, a noted mountain in Dam- 
bartonshire 

Bethankit, grace after meat 



Beuk, a book 

Bicker, a kind of wooden dish ; a short 

race 
Bie, or Bield, shelter 
Bien, wealthy, pj-^ntiful 
Big, to build 

Biggin, building ; a house 
Biggit, built 
Bill, a buU 

BilUe, a brother ; a young fellow 
Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, &t. 
Birk, birch 
Birken-shaw, Birchen-wood-shaw, a 

small wood 
Birkie, a clever fellow 
Birring, the noise of partridges, &c., 

when they spring 
Bit, crisis, nick of time 
Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 
Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf; a term of 

contempt 
Blastit, blasted 
Blate, bashful, sheepish 
Blather, bladder 

Bladd, a flat piece of anything ; to slap 
Blaw, to blow, to boast 
Bleerit, bleared, sore with rheimi 
Bleert and blin , bleared and blind 



Blellum, an idle talking fellow 

Blether, to talk idly ; nonsense 

Bleth'rin', talking idly 

Blink, a little while; a smiling look; 
to look kindly ; to shine by fits 

Blinker, a term of contempt 

Blinkin, smirking 

Blue-gown, one of those beggars wht 
get annually, on the King's birth-day^ 
a blue cloak or gown, with a badg« 

Bluid, blood 



GLOSSARY. 



Blimtie, a sniveller, a stupid person 
Blype, a shred, a large piece 
Bock, to vomit, to gush intermittently 
Bocked, gushed, vomited 
Bodle, a small gold coin 
Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins 
Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, beautiful 
Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of bread, 
a small jannock, or loaf made of oat- 
meal 
Boord, a board 

Boortjree, the shrub elder ; planted 
much of old in hedges of barn-yards, 
&c. 
Boost, behaved, must needs 
Bore, a hole in the wall 
Botch, an angry tumour 
Bousing, drinking 
Bow-kail, cabbage 
Bowt, bended, crooked 
Brackens, fern 
Brae, a declivity ; a precipice ; the 

slope of a hill 
Braid, broad 
Braindg't, reeled forward 

Braik, a kind of harrow 

Braindge, to run rashly forward 

Brak, broke, made insolvent 

Branks, a kind of wooden curb for 
horses 

Brash, a sudden illness 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c. 

Brattle, a short race ; hurry ; fury 

Braw, fine, handsome 

Brawly, or brawlie, very well ; finely ; 
heartily 

Braxie, a morbid sheep 

Breastie, diminutive of breast 

Breastit, did spring up or forward 

Breckan, fern 



Breef, an invtilneiable or irresudUc 
spell 

Breeks, breeches 

Brent, smooth 

Brewin', brewing 

Brie, juice, liquid 

Brig, a bridge 

Brisket, the breast, the bosom 

Brither, a brother 

Brock, a badger 

Brogue, a hum ; a trick 

Broo, broth ; a trick 

Broose, broth ; a race at country wed- 
dings, who shall first reach the brido 
groom's house on returning from 
church 

Browster-wives, ale-house wives 

Brugh, a burgh 

Bruilzie, a broil, a combustion 

Brunstane, brimstone _ 

Brunt, did bum, burnt 

Brust, to burst ; burst 

Buchan-buUers, the boiling of tlie se» 
among the rocks of Buchan 

Buckslcin, an inhabitant of Virginia 

Bught, a pen 

Bughtin-time, the time of collectinji 
the sheep in the pens to be milked 

Buirdly, stout made ; broad made 

Bum-clock, a humming beetle that fiifli 
in the summer evenings 

Bumming, humming as bees 

Bummle, to blunder 

Bummler, a blimderer 

Bunker, a window-seat 

Burdies, diminutive of birds 

Bure, did bear 

Bum, water, a rivulet 

Bumewin, ?,* ., bum the wind, • bla M 
smith 



GLOSSARY. 



i6i 



bumie ^tiinutive of bum 

Buskie, bushy 

Busldt, dressed 

Busks, dresses 

Bias, shelter 

Bussle, a bustle ; to bustle 

But, bot, with ; without 

But an' ben, the country kitchen and 

parlour 
By himsel, lunatic, distracted 
Byke, a bee-hive 
Byre, a cow-stable ; a sheep-pen 

CA', to call, to name ; to drive 

Ca't, or ca'd, called, driven ; calved 

Cadger, a carrier 

Cadie, or Caddie, a person ; a young 
fellow 

Caff, chaff 

Caird, a tinker 

Cairn, a loose heap of stones 

Calf-ward, a small enclosure for calves 

Callan, a boy 

Caller, fresh ; sound ; refreshing 

Canie, or cannie, gentle, mild ; dex- 
terous 

Carmilie, dexterously ; gently 

Cantie, or canty, cheerful, merry 

Cantraip, a charm, a spell 

Cape-stane, cope-stone ; key-stone 

Careerin, cheerfully 

Carl, an old man 

Carlin, an old stout woman 

Cartes, cards 

Caudron, a cauldron 

Cauld, cold 

Caulk and keel, chalk and red clay 

Caup, a wooden drinking-vessel 

Cesses, taxes 

Chanter, » part of a bagpipe 



Chap, a person, a fellow ; a blow 
Chaup, a stroke, a blow 
Cheekit, checked 
Cheep, a chirp ; to chirp 
Chiel, or cheel, a young fellow 
Chimla, or chimlie, a fire-grate, a &nf 

place 
Chimla-lug, the fireside 
Chittering, shivering, trembling 
Chockin, choking 
Chow, to chew; Cheek for chow, sida 

by side 
Chuffie, fat-faced 
Clachan, a small village about a chuidi ; 

a hamlet 
Claise, or claes, clothes 
Claith, cloth 
Claithing, clothing 

Claivers, nonsense; not speaking sense 
Clap, clapper of a mill 
Clarkit, wrote 

Clash, an idle tale, the story of the day 
Clatter, to tell idle stories; an Idls 

story 
Claught, snatched at, laid hold of 
Claut, to clean ; to scrape 
Clauted, scraped 
Clavers, idle stories 
Claw, to scratch 
Cleed, to clothe 
Cleeds, clothes 
Cleekit, having caught 
Clinkin, jerking ; clinking 
Clinkumbell, he who rings the dnac^ 

bell 
Clips, shears 

Clishmaclaver, idle conversation' 
Clock, to hatch : a beetle 
Qockin, hatching 
Cloot, the hoof of a cow, sheem tuB, 



GLOSSARY. 



" Clootie, an old name for the Devil 

l.*^'jur, a bump or swelling after a blow 

Quds, clouds 
i^axin, wheedling 

Coble, a fishing boat 

Cockernony, a lock of hair tied upon a 
girl's head ; a cap 

Coft, bought 

Cog, a wooden dish 

Coggie, diminutive of cog 

Coila, from Kyle, a district of Ayr- 
shire ; so called, saith tradition, from 
Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish monarch 

Collie, a general and sometimes a par- 
ticular name for country curs 

CoUieshangie, quarrelling, an uproar 

Coramaun, command 

Good, the cud 

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cookit, appeared and disappeared by 
fits 

Coost, did cast 

Coot, the ancle or foot 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish : — also, 
those fowls whose legs are clad with 
feathers are said to be cootie 

Corbies, a species of the crow 

Core, corps ; party ; clan 

Corn't, fed with oats 

Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot-house, 
or cottager 

Couthie, kind, loving 

Cove, a cave 

Cowe, to terrify ; to keep under, to 
lop ; fright ; a branch of furze, 
broom, &c. 

Cowp, to barter ; to tumble over ; a 
gang 

Cowpit^ tumbled 
cowering 



Cowt, a colt 

Cozie, snug 

Cozily, snugly 

Crabbit, crabbed, fretful 

Crack, conversation ; to converse 

Crackin, conversing 

Craft, or croft, a field near a house (i» 

old husbandry) 
Craiks, cries or calls incessantly ; abira 
Crambo-clink,orcrambo-jingle,ihymes> 

doggrel verses 
Crank, the noise of an ungreased 

wheel 
Crankous, fretful, captious 
Cranreuch, the hoar frost 
Crap, a crop ; to crop 
Craw, a crow of a cock ; a roc k 
Creel, a basket ; to have one's wits in 

a creel, to be crazed ; to be fascin- 
ated 
Creepie-stool, the same as cutty-stool 
Creeshie, greasy 

Crood, or croud, to coo as a dove 
Croon, a hollow and continued moan 

to make a noise like the continued 

roar of a bull ; to hvun a tune 
Crooning, humming 
Crouchie, crook-backed 
Crouse, cheerful ; courageous 
Crousely, cheerfully ; courageously 
Crowdie, a composition of oatmeal and 

boiled water, sometimes from the 

broth of beef, mutton, &c. 
Crowdie-time, breakfast-time 
Crowlin, crawling 

Crummock, a cow with crooked horns 
Crump, hard and brittle ; spoken of 

bread 
Crunt, a blow on the head with a 

cudgel 



GCOSSAKy. 



Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cummock, a short staff with a crooked 
head 

Curctiie, a courtesy 

Curler, a player at a game on the ice, 
practised in Scotland, called curling 

Curlie, curled, whose hair falls natur- 
ally in ringlets 

Curling, a well-known game on the ice 

Curmurring, murmuring ; a slight rum- 
bling noise 

Curpin, the crupper 

Cushat, the dove, or wood-pigeon 

Cutty, short; a spoon broken in the 
middle 

Cutty-stool, the stool of repentance 

DADDIE, a father 

Daffin, merriment ; foolishness 

Daft, merry, giddy ; foolish 

Daimen, rare, now and then ; daimen- 

icker, an ear of com now and then 
Dainty, pleasant, good humoured, 

agreeable 
Daise, daez, to stupify 
Dales, plains, valleys 
Darklins, darkling 
Daud, to thrash, to abuse 
Daur, to dare 

Daurg, or daurk, a day's laboiu: 
Daurt, dared 
Davoc, David 
Dawd, a large piece 
Dawtit, or dawtet, fondled, caressed 
Dearies, diminutive of dears 
Dearthfu', dear 
Deave, to deafen 

Deil-ma-care ! no matter I for aU that ! 
Deleeiit, delirious 
Descrivft, to describe 



Dight, to wipe ; to clean com from 

chaff 
Dight, cleaned frcm chaft 
Ding, to worst, to push 
Dink, neat, tidy, trim 
Dinna, do not 

Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or paia 
Dizen, or dizz'n, a dozen 
Doited, stupihed, hebetated 
Dolt, stupified, crazed 
Donsie, unlucky 
Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, to lament, 

to mourn 
Doos, doves 
Dorty, saucy, nice 

Douce, or douse, sober, wise, prudent 
Doucely, soberly, prudently 
Dought, was or were able 
Doup, backside 

Doup-skelper, one that strikes the tail 
Dour and din, sullen and sallow 
Doure, stout, durable ; sullen, stubborn 
Dow, am or are able, can 
Dowff, pithless, wanting force 
Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, &c^ 

half asleep 
Downa, am or are not able, cannot 
Doylt, stupid 

Dozent, stupified, impotent 
Drap, a drop ; to drop 
Draigle, to soil by trailing, to draggle 

among wet, &c. 
Drapping, dropping 
Draunting, drawling ; of a slow enu» 



Dreep, to ooze, to drop 
Dreigh, tedious, long about it 
Dribble, drizzling ; slaver 
Drift, a drove 
Droddum, the ttreech 



.64 



GLOSSARY, 



Drone, pait of a bagpipe 

Droop-rumprt, that drops at the crup- 
per 

Droukit, wet 

Drounting, drawling 

Drouth, thirst, drought 

Drucken, drunken 

Drumly, muddy 

Drummock, meal and water mixed in 
a raw state 

Dnmt, pet, sour humour 

Dub, a small pond 

Duds, rags, clothes 

Duddie, ragged 

Dung, worsted ; pushed, driven] 

Dunted, beaten, boxed 

Dush, to push as a ram, &c. 

Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, &c. 

£'£, the eye 

Een, the eyes 

E'ening, evening 

Eerie, frighted, dreading spirits 

Eild, old age 

Elbuck, the elbow 

Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 

Eller, an elder, or church officer 

En', end 

Enbrugb, Edinburgh 

Eneugh, enough 

Especial, especially 

Ettle, to try, to attempt 

Eydent, diligent 

FA', fall; lot; to faU 

Fa's, does fall ; water-falls 

Faddom't, fathomed 

Fae, a foe 

Faem, foam 

Faiket, unknown 

Fairin, a. fairing ; a present 



Fallow, fello* 

Fand, did find 

Farl, a cake of oaten V'^ad, &c. 

Fash, trouble, care ; to trouble, to OM 
for 

Fasht, troubled 

Fasteren-e'en, Fasten's Even 

Fauld, a fold ; to fold 

Faulding, folding 

Faut, fault 

Faute, want, lack 

Fawsont, decent, seemly 

Feal, a field ; smooth 

Fearfu', frightful 

Feart, frighted 

Feat, neat, spruce 

Fecht, to fight 

Fechtin, fighting 

Feck, many, plenty 

Fecket, an under waistcoat with sleeve* 

Feckfu', large, brawny, stout _ 

Feckless, puny, weak, silly 

Feckly, weakly 

Feg, a fig 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Feirrie, stout, vigorous, healthy 

Fell, keen, bitmg; the flesh immedi- 
ately under the skin ; a field pretty 
level, on the side or top of a hill 

Fen, successful struggle ; fight 

Fend, to live comfortably 

Ferlie, or ferley, to wonder; a wonder r 
a term of contempt 

Fetch, to pull by fits 

Fetch'd, pulled intermittently 

Fidge, to fidget 

Fiel, soft, smooth 

Fient, fiend, a petty oath 

Fier, sound, healthy ; a brother ; I 
friend 



GLOSS Any. 



fkisle, to make a rustling noise ; to 
fidget ; a bustle 

Fit, a foot 

f ittie-lan', the nearer horse of the hind- 
most pair in the plough 

Fizz, to make a hissing noise, like fer- 
mentation 

f lainen, flannel 

Fleech, to supplicate in a flattering 



Fleech'd, supplicated 

Fleechin, supplicating 

Fleesh, a fleece 

Fleg, a kick, a random stroke 

Flether, to decoy by fair words 

Fletherin, flattering 

Fley, to scare, to frigHten 

Flichter, to flutter, as young 
when their dam approaches 

Flinders, shreds, broken pieces, splint- 
ers 

Klinging-tree, a piece of timber hung 
by way of partition between two 
horses in a stable ; a flail 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke 

Flisket, fretted 

Flitter, to vibrate like the wings of 
small birds 

Flittering, fluttering, vibrating 

Flimkie, a servant in livery 

Fodgel, squat and plump 

Foord, a ford 

Forbears, forefathers 

Forbye, besides 

Forfaim, distressed : worn out, jaded 

Forfoughten, fatigued 

Forgather, to meet, to encounter with 

Forgie, to forgive 

Forjesket, jaded viith fatigue 

'"other, fodder 



Fou, full ; drunk 

Foughten, troubled, 1 

Fouth, plenty, enough, or more thaa 

enough 
Fow, a bushel, && ; also a pitch-fotic 
Frae, from; off 
Frammit, strange, estranged fronts at 

enmity with 
Fraeth, froth 
Frien', friend 
Fu', full 
Fud, the scut, or tail of the hm, 

cony, &C. 
Fuff, to blow intermittently 
Fuff't, did blow 
Funnie, full of merriment 
Fur, a furrow 
Furm, a form, bench 
Fyke, trifling cares; to piddle, to bo 

in a fuss about trifles 
Fyle, to soil, dirty 
Fyl't, soiled, dirtied 

GAB, the mouth ; to speak boldly, or 

pertly 
Gaberlimzie, an old man 
Gadsman, a ploughboy, the boy that 

drives the horses in the plough 
Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; gaen, or gane, 

gone ; gaun, g^oing 
Gaet, or gate, way, manner; road 
Gairs, triangular pieces of cloth sewed 

on the bottom of a gown, &c. 
Gang, to go, to walk 
Gar, to make, to force to 
Gar't, forced to 
Garten, a garter 
Gash, wise, sagadoua; tallcatiTe; t* 

converse 
Gashin, conversing 



t66 



GLOSSARY. 



Gaucy, jolly, large 

Gaud, a plough 

Gear, riches ; goods of any kind 

Geek, to toss the head in wantonness 

or scorn 
Ged, a pike . 

Gentles, great folks, gentry 
Genty, elegantly formed, neat 
Geordie, a guinea 
Get, a child, a young one 
Ghaist, a ghost 

Gie, to give ; gied, gave ; gien, given 
Giftie, diminutive of gift 
Giglets, playful girls 
Gillie, diminutive of gill 
(iilpey, a half grown, half informed 

boy or girl, a romping lad, a hoiden 
Ginuner, a ewe from one to two years 

old 
Gin, if; against 
Gipsy, a young girl 
Gim, to grin, to twist the features in 

rage, agony, &c. 
Giming, grinning 
Gizz, a periwig 
Glaiket, inattentive, foolish 
Glaive, a sword 

Gawky, half-witted, foolish, romping 
Glaizie, glittering ; smooth like glass 
Glaum, to snatch greedily 
Glaum' d, aimed, snatched 
Gleck, sharp, ready 
Gleg, sharp, ready 
Gleib, glebe 

Glen, a dale, a deep valley 
Gley, a squint ; to squint ; a-gley, off 

at side, wrong 
Glib-gabbet, smooth and ready in 

speech 
dint, to iM«p 



Glinted, peeped 

Glintin, peeping 

Gloamin, the twilight 

Glowr, [to stare, to look ; .a stare, t 

look 
Glowred, looked, stared 
Glunsh, a frown, a sour look 
Goavan, looking rovmd with a strange, 

inquiring gaze ; staring stupidly 
Gowan, the flower of the wild daisy, 

hawkweed, &c 
Gowany, daisied, abounding with dai- 

sies 
Gowd, gold 
Gowff, the igame of golf ; to strike ai 

the bat does the ball at golf 
GowfFd, struck 

Gowk, a cuckoo : a term of contempt 
Gowl, to howl 

Grane, or grain, a groan ; to groan 
Grain'd and grunted, groaned and 

grunted 
Graining, groaning 
Graip, a pronged instrument for clean" 

ing stables 
Graith, accoutrements, furniture, dress, 

gear 
Grannie, grandmother 
Grape, to grope 
Graipit, groped 
Grat, wept, shed tears 
Great, intimate, familiar 
Gree, to agree ; to bear the gree, to b« 

decidedly victor 
Gree't, agreed 

Greet, to shed tears, to weep 
Greetin, crying, weeping 
Grippet, catched, seized 
Groat, to get the whistle of one's groat 

to play a lo«ng game 



GLOSSARY. 



Grausome, loatiuomely grim 

Grozet, a gooseberry 

Grumph, a grunt ; to grunt 

Grumphie^ a sow 

Grun', ground 

Grunstane, a grindstone 

Gruntle, the phiz ; a grunting noise 

Gninzie, mouth 

Grushie, thick ; of thriving growth 

Gude, the Supreme Being ; good 

Guid, good 

Guid morning, good morrow 

Guid-e'en, good evening 

Guidfather, guidmother, father-in-law 
and mother-in-law 

Guidman and guidvvTfe, the master and 
mistress of the house ; young guid- 
man, a man newly married 

Guid-willie, liberal ; cordial 

Gully, or guUie, a large knife 

Gumlie, muddy 

Gusty, tasteful 

HA', hall 

Ha'-Bible, the great Bible that lies in 
the hall 

Hae, to have 

Haen, had, the participle 

Haet, fient haet, a petty oath of nega- 
tion; nothing 

Haffet, the temple, the side of the 
head 

Hafflins, nearly half, partly 

Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses and 
moors 

Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled in 
the stomach of a cow oir sheep 

Kain,,, to spare, to sava 

Hain'd, spared 

Hairst, harvest 



Haith, a petty oath 

Haivers, nonsense, SpeaKing without 

thought 
Hal', or hald, an abiding-place 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy 
Hallun, a particular partition-wall in 

a cottage, or more properly a seat oi 

turf at the outside 
Hallowmass, Hallow-eve, the 31st w 

October 
Haly, holy 
Hame, home 
Hamely, homely, aflable 
Han', or haun', hand 
Hap, an outer garment, mantle, plaid, 

&c., to wrap, to cover ; to hop 
Happer, a hopper 
Happing, hopping 

Hap step an' loup, hop skip and lei^ 
Harkit, hearkened 
Ham, very coarse linen 
Hash, a fellow that neither knows how 

to dress nor act with propriety 
Hastie, dry; chapped; barren 
Hastit, hastened 
Haud, to hold 

Haughs, low lying, rich lands; valley* 
Haurl, to drag, to peel 
Haurlin, peeling . 

Haverel, a half-witted person ; half- 
witted 
Havins, good manners, decorum, good 

sense 
HawWe, a cow, properly one with 

white face 
Heapit, heaped 

Healsome, healthful, wholesanM 
Hearse, hoarse 
Hear't, near it 
Heather, heath 



GLOSS AX V. 



Horb ! dh ! strange ! 

Hecht, promised ; to foretell something 

that is to be got or given ; foretold ; 

the thing foretold ; offered 
Heckle, a board in which are fixed a 

nomber of sharp pins, usmI in dress- 
ing hemp, flax, &c. 
Heeze, to elevate, to raise 
Helm, the rudder or helm 
Herd, to tend flocks ; one who tends 

flocks 
Herrin, a herring 
Herry, to plunder; most properly to 

plunder birds' nests 
Herryment, plundering, d.'/astation 
Hersel, herself; also a herd of cattle 

of any sort 
Het, hot 

Heugh, a craig, a coalpit 
Hilch, a hobble ; to halt 
Hilchin, halting 
Himsel, himself 
Hiney, honey 
Hiug, to hang 

Hiiple, to walk crazily, to creep 
Hissel, so many cattle as one person 

can attend 
Hitch, a loop, a knot 
Hizzie, a hussy, a young girl 
Hoddin, the motion of a sage coun< 

tryman riding on a cart-horse ; hum- 
ble 
Hog-score, a kind of distance-line, in 

curling, drawn across the rink 
Hog-sbouther, a kind of horse-play, by 

justling with the shoulder ; to justle 
Hool, outer skin or case, a nut-sheh , 

apeascod 
Hodie, slowly, leisurely 
Hoolie I take Insure I stop t 



Hoord, a hoard : to hoard 

Hoordil, hoarded 

Horn, a spoon made of horn 

Homie, one of the many names o( lis* 

Devil 
Host, or hoast, to cough ; a cough 
Hostin, coughing 
Hosts, coughs 
Hotch'd, turned topsyturvy ; blendtd, 

mixed 
Houghmagandie, fornication 
Houlet, an owl 
Housie, diminutive of a house 
Hove, to heave, to swell 
Hoved, heaved, swelled 
Howdie, a midwife 
Howe, hollow ; a hollow or dell 
Howebackit, sunk in the back, spokea 

of a horse, &c. 
Howff, a tippling house; a house m 

resort 
Howk, to dig 
Howkin, digging 
Howkit, digged 
Howlet, an owl 
Hoy, to lurge 
Ho/t, urged 
Hoyse, to pull upwards 
Hoyte, to amble crarily 
Hughoc, diminutive of Hugh 
Hurcheon, a hedgehog 
Hurdles, the loins; the crupper 
Hushion, a cushion 

r, in 

Icker, an ear of com 
ler-oe, a great grandchild 
Ilk, or ilka, each, every 
lU-wilUe, ill-natured, nalidonu ait 
gardly 



GLOSSARY. 



Ingnie, genius, ingentiity 
Ingle, fire ; fire-place 
Ise, I shall or will 
Ither, other ; one another 

J AD, jade; also a familiar term among 
countryfolks for a giddy young girl 
Jauk, to dally, to trifle 
Jaukin, trifling, AaWymg 
Jaup, a jerk of water ; to jerk as agi- 
tated water 
Jut, coarse raillery ; to pour out ; to 

shut ; to jerk as water 
Jerkinet, a jerkin, or short gown 
Ji'let, a jilt, a giddy girl 
Jimp, to jump ; slender in the waist ; 

handsome 
J imps, easy stays 
Jink, to dodge, to turn a comer ; a 

sudden turning ; a comer 
Jinker, that turns quickly; a gay 

sprightly girl ; a wag 
Jinkin, dodging 
Jirk, a jerk 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife 
Jouk, to stoop, to how the head 
Jow, to jow, a verb which includes 

both the swinging motion and pealing 

sound of a large bell 
Jimdie, to justle 

KAE. a daw 

KaU, colewort ; a kind of broth 
Kail-runt, the stem of colewort 
Kaia, fowls, &c., paid as rent by a 

farmer 
K^bbuck, a cheese 
Keckle, to giggle ; to titter 
Kcjek, a peep ; to peep 
ielpies, a sart of mischievous spirits. 



said to haunt fords and ferries at 
nighu, especially in storms 
Ken, to know ; kend or kenn'd, knew 
Kennin, a small matter 
Kenspeckle, well known, easily known 

Ket, matted, hairy ; a fleece of wool 

KUt, to tmss up the clothes 

Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip 

Kin, kindred ; kin', kind, adj. 

King's-hood, a certain part of the en- 
trails of an ox, &c. 

Kintra, country 

Kintra cooser, country stallion 

Kim, the harvest-supper ; a chum 

Kirsen, to christen, or baptize 

Kist, a chest ; a shop coimter 

Kitchen, anything that eats with bread ; 
to serve for soup, gravy, &c. 

Kith, kindred 

Kittle, to tickle ; ticklish ; lively, apt 

Kittlin, a young cat 

Kiuttle, to Tiddle 

Kiuttlin, c addling 

Knaggie, ike knags, or points of rocks 

Knap, to strike smartly ; a smart blow 

Knappin-hammer, a hammer for break- 
ing stones 

Knowe, a small round hillock 

Knurl, a dwarf 

Kye, cows 

Kyle, a district in Ayrshire 

Kyte, the belly 

Kythe, to discover ; to show one's «eli 

LADDIE, diminutive of lad 
Laggen, the angle between the sid« 

and bottom of a wooden dish 
Laigh, low- 
Lairing, wading, and sinking in snow, 



GLOSSARY. 



Lutb, loath 

Lsuthfu', bashfii, sheepish 

Lallans, the Scottish dialect of the 

English language 
Lambie, diminutive of lamb 
Udmpit, a kind of shell-fish, a limpet 
Lan', land ; estate 
Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, &c., 

myself alone, &c. 
Lanely, lorlely 
Lang, long ; to think lang, to long, to 

weary 
Lap, did leap 
Lave, the rest, the remainder, the 

others 
Laverock, the lark 
Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill 
Lawlan, lowland 

Lea'e, to leave 

Leal, loyal, true, faithful 

Lea-rig, grassy ridge 

Lear {pronounced lare), learning 

Lee-lang, live-long 

Leesome, pleasant 

Leeze-me, a phrase of congratulatory 
endearment ; I am happy in thee, or 
proud of thee 

Leister, a three-pronged dart for strik- 
ing fish 

Leugh, did laugh 

Leuk, a look; to look 

Libbet, gelded 

Lift, the sky 

Lightly, sneeringly ; to sneer at 

Lilt, a ballad ; a tune ; to sing 

Limmer, a kept mistress, a strumpet 

Limp't, limped, hobbled 

Link, to trip along 

Linldn, tripping 

Linn, a waterfall ; a precipice 



Lint, flax ; Lint i' the bell, flax in flowa 

Lintwhite, a linnet 

Loan, or loanin, the place of milking 

Loof, the palm of the hand 

Loot, did let 

Looves, plural of loof 

Loun, a fellow, a ragamuffin ; a wonuu 

of easy virtue 
Loup, jump, leap 
Lowe, a flame 
Lowin, flaming 

Lowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence 
Lowse, to loose 
Lows'd, loosed 
Lug, the ear ; a handle 
Lugget, having a handle 
Luggie, a small wooden dish with » 

handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunch, a large piece of cheese, flesh, 

&c. 
Lunt, a column of smoke ; to smoked 
Luntin, smoking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey 

MAE, more 

Mair, more 

Maist, mo«t, almost 

liiaistly, mostly 

Mak, to make 

Makin, making 

Mailen, a farm 

Mallie, Molly 

Mang, among 

Manse, the parsonage-house, when 
the minister lives 

Manteele, a mantle 

Mark, marks. (This and several othet 
noims which in English require an 
to form the plural, are in Scotch 



GLOSSARY. 



like Um wtmts sfteep, deer, the same 
in both numbers) 

Marled, variegated ; spotted 

Mar's year, the year 1713 

Mashlum, meslin, mis^d com 

Mask, to mash, as malt, &c. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maud, maad, a plaid worn by shep- 
herds, &c. 

Maukin, a hare 

Maun, must 

Mavis, the thrush 

Maw, to mow 

Mawin, mowing 

Meere, a mare 

Meikle, meickle, much 

Melancholious, mournful 

Melder, com, or grain of any kind, 
sent to the mill to be ground 

Mell, to meddle. Also a mallet for 
pounding barley in a stone trough] 

Melvie, to soil with meal 

Men', to mend 

Mense, good manners, decorum 

Menseless, ill-bred, mde, impudent 

Messin, a small dog 

Midden, a dunghill 

Midden-hole, a gutter at the bottom of 
a dunghill 

Mim, prim, affectedly meek 

Min', mind ; resemblance 

Mind't, mind it ; resolved, intending 

Minnie, mother, dam 

Mirk, mirkest, dark, darkest 

Misca', to abuse, to call names 

Misca'd, abused 

Mislear'd, mischievous, unmannerly 

Misteuk, mistook 

Mother, a mother 

Uixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed 



Moistify, to moisten 

Mony, or monie, many 

Mools, dust, earth, the earth of tb« 

grave ; to rake i' the mools, to \ay 

in the dust 
Moop, to nibble as a sheep 
Moorlan', of or belonging to moors 
Mom, the next day, to-morrow 
Mou, the mouth 
Moudiwort, a mole 
Mousie, diminutive of mouse 
Muckle, or mickle, great, big, much 
Musie, diminutive of muse 
Muslin-kail, broth composed simply of 

water, shelled barley, and greena 
Mutchkin, an Enghsh pint 
Mysel, myself 

NA, no, not, nor 

Nae, no, not any 

Naething, or naithing, nothing 

Naig, a horse 

Nane, none 

Nappy, ale ; to be tipsy 

Negleckit, neglected 

Neuk, a nook 

Niest, next 

Nieve, the fist 

Nievefu', handful 

Niifer, an exchange ; to exchange, t« 

barter 
Niger, a negro 

Nine-tailed-cat, a hangman's wliip 
Nit, a nut 

Norland, of or belonging to the nottll 
Notitft, noticed 
Nowte. black cattle 



•79 



GLOSSARY. 



O baite, O faith i ^u or<th 

Ony, or onie, any 

Or, is often used for ere, before 

Ora, or orra, supernumerary, that can 

be -spared 
O't, ofit 

Ourie, shivering; drooping 
Oursel, 01 oursels, ourselves 
Cutlers, cattle not housed 
Owre, over; too 
Owre-hip, a way of fetching a blow 

with the hammer over the arm 

PACK, intimate, familiar ; twelve stone 

of wool 
Paincb, paunch 
Paitrick, a partridge 
Pang, to cram 
Parle, speech 
Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a wedl- 

known Scotch dish 
Pat, did put ; a pot 
Pattle, or pettle, a plough-staff 
Paughty, proud, haughty 
Pauky, or pawkie, cunning, sly 
Payt, paid ; beat 
Pech, to fetch the breath short, as in 

an asthma 
Pechan, the crop, the stomach 
Peelin, peeling, the rind of fruit 
Pet, a domesticated sheep, &c 
Pettle, to cherish ; a plough-staff 
Philabegs, short petticoats worn by the 

Highlandmen 
Phraise, fair speeches, flattery; to 
p flatter 

Phraisin, flattery 
F>.broch, Highland war music adapted 

to the bagpipe 
Oickle, a small qtuindty 



Pine, pain, imeasiness 

Pit, to put 

Placad, public proclamation 

Plack, an old Scotch coin, the thil4 

part of a Scotch penny, twelre oi 

which make an English penny. 
Plackless, penniless, without money 
Platie, diminutive of plate 
Plew, or pleugh, a plough 
Pliskie, a trick 
Poind, to seize cattle or goods foi rent 

as the laws of Scotland allow 
Poortith, poverty 
Pou, to pull 
Pouk, to pluck 
Poussie, a hare, or cat 
Pout, a poult, a chick 
Pou't, did pull 
Pow, the head, the skull 
Pownie, a little horse 
Powther, or pouther, powder 
Powthery, like powder 
Preen, a pin? 
Prent, to print ; print 
Prie, to taste 
Prie'd, tasted 
Prief, proof 

Prig, to cheapen ; to dispute 
Priggin, cheapening 
Primsie, demure, precise 
Propone, to lay down, to propose 
Provoses, provosts 
Puddock-stool, a mushroom, fungus 
Pund, pound ; pounds 
Pyle, a pyle •* caff, a single griiin ct 

chaff 

QUAT, to quit 
Quak, to quake 
Quey, a cow from one ts two yean oI# 



GLOSSAXr. 



ItAGWEED. ilw !ifi\ « .jwrort 

Raible, to latlle non:iense 

Rair, to roar 

Raize, to madden, to inflani e 
. Ram-feezl'd, fatigued ; overspread 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, forward 

Raploch, properly a coarse cloth ; but 
used as an adnoun for coarse 

Rarely, excellently, very well 

Rash, a rush; rash-buss, a bush of 
rushes 

Ratton, a rat 

Raucle, rash; stout; fearless 

Raught, reached 

Raw, a row 

Rax, to stretch 

Ream, cream ; to cream 

Reaming, brimful, frothing 

Reave, rove 

Reck, to heed 

Rede, counsel ; to counsel 

Red-wat-shod, walking in blood over 
the shoe-tops 

Red-wud, stark mad 

Ree, half drunk, fuddled 

Reek, smoke 

Reekin, smoking 

Reekit, smoke.d ; smoky 

Remead, remedy 

Requite, requited 

Rest, to stand restive 

Restit, stood restive ; stunted ; wi- 
thered 

Restiicked, restricted 

Rew, to repent, to compassionate 

Rief, reef, plenty 

Rief randies, sturdy beggars 

Rig, a ridge 

kigwiddie, rigwoodie, the rope or chain 
that crosses the saddle of a horse to 



support the spokes of a cait ; spaie, 

withered, sapless 
Rin, to run, to melt 
Rinnin, running 
Rink, the course of the stones, a term 

in curling on ice 
Rip, a handful of imthreshed com 
Riskit, made a noise like the tearing 

of roots 
Rockin, spinning on the rock, or distaff 
Rood, stands likewise for the plural 

roods 
Roon, a shred, a border or selvage 
Roose, to praise, to commend 
Roosty, rusty 
Roun', round, in the circle of neigb 

bourhood 
Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold 
Routhie, plentiful 
Row, to roll, to wrap 
Row't, rolled, wrapped 
Rowte, to low, to bellow 
Rowth, or routh, plenty 
Rowtin, lowing 
Rozet, rosin 
Rung, a cudgel 
Runkled, wrinkled 

Runt, the stem of colewort or cabb^ga 
Ruth, sorrow 
Ryke, to reach 

SAE.so 

Saft, soft 

Sair, to serve ; a sore 

Sairly, or sairlie, sorely 

Sair*!, served 

Sark, a shirt ; a shift 

Sarkit, provided in shiiti> 

Saugh, the ^ 

Sa-a^fKnil 



■74 

Saumont, salnon 

Saunt, a saint 

Saut, salt, adj. salt. 

Saw, to sow 

Sawin, sowing 

Sax, six 

Scaith, to damage, to injure ; injury 

Scar, a cliff 

Scaud, to scald 

Scauld, to scold 

Scaur, apt to be scared 

Scawl, a scold ; a termagant 

Scon, a cake of bread 

Sconner, a loathing ; to loathe 

Scraich, to scream as a hen, partridge, 

&c 
Screed, to tear; a rent 
Scrieve, to glide swiftly along 
Scrievin, gleesomely ; swiftly 
Scrimp, to scant 
Scrimpet, did scant ; scanty 
See'd, did see 
Seizin, seizing 

Sel, self; a body's sel, one's self alone 
SeU't, did seU 
Sen', to send 
Sen't, I, &c., sent, or did send it ; 

send it 
Servan', servant 
Settlin', settling; togetasettlin',tobe 

frighted into quietness 
Sets, sets off, goes away 
Shachled, distorted ; shapeless 
Shaird, a shred, a shard 
Shangan, a stick cleft at one end to put 

in the tail of a dog, &c., by way of 

mischief, or to frighten him away 
Chaver, a humorous wag ; a barber 
Ebaw, to show ; a small wood in a 

hollow 



GLOSSARY. 



Sheep-shank ; to think one's self nac 
sheep-shank, to be conceited 

Sherra-mujr, Sheriff-moor, the battJ* 
fought in the rebellion, a.d. i7»5 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a sluice 

Shiel, a shed 

ShiU, shrill 

Shog, a shock ; a push off at coe lidc 

Shod, shovel 

Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 

Shor'd, offered 

Shouther, the shoulder 

Shure, did shear, shore 

Sic, such 

Sicker, sure, steady 

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 

Siller, silver ; money 



Sin, a son 

Sin', since 

Skaith. See Scaith 

Skellum, a worthless fellow 

Skelp, to strike, to slap ; to walk wid 

a smart tripping step ; a smart stroke 
Skelpie-linuner, a reproachful term in 

female scolding 
Skelpin, stepping, walking 
Skiegh, or skeigh, proud, nice, higk- 

mettled 
Skinklin, a small portion 
Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly 
Skirling, shrieking, crying 
Skirl't, shrieked 
Sklent, slant ; to run aslant, to deviat* 

from truth 
Sklented, ran, or hit, in an oblique d» 

rection 
Skouth, freedom to converse 

restraint; range; scope 



GLOSSARY. 



n% 



Skriegh, a scream ; to scream 

Skyrin, shining ; making a great show 

Skyte, foice, very forcible motion 

Slae, a sloe 

Blade, did slide 

Blap, a gate ; a breach in a fence 

Slaver, saliva ; to emit saliva 

Slaw, slow 

Slee, sly ; sleest, sliest 

Sleekit, sleek ; sly 

Sliddery, slippery 

Slype, to fall over, as a wet fmrow 

from the plough 
Slypet, fell 
Sma', small 

Smeddum, dust, powder ; mettle, 
Smiddy, a smithy [sense 

Smoor, to smother 
Smoor'd, smothered 
Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly 
Smytrie, a numerous collection of small 

individuals 
Snapper, to stumble ; a stumble 
Snash, abuse, Billingsgate 
Snaw, snow ; to snow 
Snaw-broo, melted snow 
Snawie, snowy 

Sneck, snick, the latch of a door 
Sned, to lop, to cut off 



Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box 
Snell, bitter, biting 

Snick-drawing, trick-contriving, crafty 
tfnirtle, to laugh restrainedly 
Snood, a ribbon for binding the hair 
Snool, one whose spirit is broken with 
oppressive slavery ; to submit tame- 
ly, to sneak 
Snoove, xi go smoothly and constantly ; 
to sneak 



Snowk, to scent or snuff, as a dog, &c. 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed 

Sonsie, having sweet, engaging looks ; 
lucky, jolly 

Soom, to swim 

Sooth, truth, a pretty oath 

Sough, a heavy sigh, a sound dying 
on the ear 

Souple, flexible ; swift 

Souter, a shoemaker 

Sowens, a dish made of oatmeal : thb 
seeds of oatmeal soured, &c., flum- 
mery 

Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity of 
anything liquid 

Sowth, to try over a time with a low 
whistle 

Sowther, solder ; to solder, to cement 

Spae, to prophesy, to divine 

Spaul, a limb 

Spairge, to dash, to soil, as with mire 

Spaviet, having the spavin 

Spean, spane, to wean 

Speat, or spate, a sweeping torrent 
after rain or thaw 

Speel, to climb 

Spence, the coimtry parlour 

Spier, to ask, to inquire 

Spier't, inquired 

Splatter, a splutter, to splutter 

Spleughan, a tobacco-pouch 

Splore, a frolic ; a noise, riot 

Sprackle, sprachle, to clamber 

Sprattle, to scramble 

Spreckled, spotted, speckled 

Spring, a quick air in music ; a Scot- 
tish reel 

Sprit, a tough-rooted plant, something 
like rushes 

Sprittie, full of spirits 
T a 



GLOSSARY. 



Spunk, fire, mettle ; wit 

Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery; will-o'- 
wisp, or ignis fatuus 

Spurtle, a stick, used in making oat- 
meal pudding or porridge 

Squad, a C3«w, a party 

Squatter, to flutter in water, as a wild 
duck 

Squattle, to sprawl 

St*cher, to stagger 

Stack, a rick of com, hay, &c. 

Staggie, the diminutive of stag 

Stalwart, strong, stout 

Stan, to stand ; stan't, did stand 

Stane, a stone 

Stang, an acute pain; a twinge; to 
sting 

Stank, did stink; a pool of standing 

Stap, stop [water 

Stark, stout 

Startle, to run as cattle stung by the 
gad-fly 

Staumrel, a blockhead ; half-witted 

Staw, did steal ; to surfeit 

Stech, to cram the belly 

Stechin, cramming 

Steek, to shut ; a stitch 

Steer, to molest ; to stir 

Steeve, firm, compacted 

Stell, a still 

Sten, to rear as a horse 

Sten't, reared 

Stents, tribute ; dues of any kind 

Stey, steep ; steyest, steepest 

Stibble, stubble ; stibble-rig, the reaper 
in haivest who takes the lead 

Stick an' stow, totally, altogether 

Stile, a crutch; to halt, to limp 

(timpait, the eighth part of a Winches- 
ter bushel 



Sdrk, a cow or bullock a year old 

Stock, a plant or root of colewort, cab 
bage, &c. 

Stockin, a stocking: throwing th« 
stockin ; when the bride and bride- 
groom are put into bed, and the 
candle out, the former throws a 
stocking at random among the com- 
pany, and the person whom it strike* 
is the next that will be married 

Stoiter, to stagger, to stammer 

Stooked, made up in shocks as com 

Stoor, sounding hollow, strong, and 
hoarse 

Stot, an ox 

Stoup, or stowp, a kind of jug o» Jisl- 
with a handle 

Stoure, dust, more particularly dust is 
motion 

Stowlins, by stealth 

Stown, stolen 

Stoyte, to stumble 

Strack, did strike 

Strae, straw ; to die a fair strae deatik 
to die in bed 

Straik, did strike 

Straikit, stroked 

Strappin, tall and handsome 

Straught, straight ; to straightaa 

Streek, stretched, tight ; to stretch 

Striddle, to straddle 

Stroan, to spout, to piss 

Studdie, an anvil 

Stumpie, diminutive of stump 

Strunt, spirituous liquor of any kiwi ; . i 
walk sturdily ; huff, suUennee* 

Stuff, com or pulse of any k^ 

Stmt, trouble ; to molest 

Sturtin, frighted 

Sucker, sugar 



Bud, ghould 

Sugh, the coutikwed rushing noise of 
wind or water 

Southron, southern ; an old name for 
the English nation 

Swaird, sward 

Swall'd, swelled 

Swank, stately, jolly 

Swankie, or swanker, a tight strapping 
young fellow or girl 

Swap, an exchange; to bartel 

Swarf, to swoon ; a swoon 

Swat, did sweat 

Swateh, a sample 

Swats, drink ; good ale 

Sweaten, sweating 

Sweer, lazy, averse; dead-sweer, ex- 
tremely averse 

Swoor, swore, did swear 

Swinge, to beat ; to whip 

Swirl, a curve; an eddying blast, or 
pool ; a knot in wood 

Swirlie, knaggie, full of knots 

Swith, get away 

Swither, to hesitate in choice ; an irre- 
solute wavering in choice 

Syne, since, ago ; then ^ 

TACKETS, a kind of nailsfor drivmg 

into the heels of shoes 
Tae, a toe ; three-tae'd, having three 

prongs 
I'liirgd, a target 
fak, to take ; tvJdn, taking 
TamtaUan, the name of a mountain 
Tangle, a sea-weed 
Tap, the top 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish 
Tarrow, to miu-mur at one's allowance 
Tarrav't, mumiured 



*ifA an 

Tarry-breeks, a saSor 

Tauld, or tald, told 

Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless", youn J 

person 
Tauted, or tautie, matted together ; 

spoken of hair or wool 
Tawie, that allows itself quietly to be 

handled ; spoken of a horse, cow, &c 
Teat, a small quantity 
Tedding, sprf Ading after the mower 
Teen, to provoke ; provocation 
Ten-hovurs' bite, a slight feed to horses 

while in the yoke, in the forenoon 
Tent, a field-pulpit ; heed, caution ; to 

take heed ; to tend or herd cattle 
Tentie, heedful, cautious 
Tentless, heedless 
Teugh, tough 
Thack, thatch ; thack an' rape, clotb 

ing necessaries 
Thae, these 

Thairms, small guts ; fiddle-strings 
Thankit, thanked 
Theekit, thatched 
Thegither, together 
Themsel, themselves 
Thick, intimate, familiar 
Thieveless, cold, dry, spited : spokea 

of a person's demeanour 
Thir, these 
Thirl, thriU 

Thirled, thrilled, vibrated 
Thole, to suifer, to endure 
Thowe, a thaw; to thaw 
Thowless, slack, lazy 
Thrang, throng, a crowd 
Thrapple, throat, windpipe 
Thrave, twenty-four sheaves or twf 

shocks of com ; a considerable nunv 

ber 



GLOSSARY. 



Thraw, to sprain, to twist ; to contra- 
dict 

Tlirawin, twisting, &c. 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted ; contra- 
dicted 

Threap, to maintain by dint of asser- 
tion 

Threshin, thrashing 

Threteen, thirteen 

Thristle, thistle 

Through, to go on with ; to make out 

Throuther, pell-mell, confusedly 

Thud, to make a loud intermittent 
aoise 

Thumpit, thumped 

Thysel, thyself 

Till't, to it 

Timmer, timber 

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost 

Tinkler, a tinker 

Tint the gate, lost the way 

Tip, a ram 

Tippence, twopence 

Tirl, to make a slight noise ; to uncover 

Tirlin, uncovering 

Tither, the other 

Tittle, to whisper 

Tittlin, whispering 

Tocher, marriage portion 

Tod, a fox 

Toddle, to totter, like the walk of a 
child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Toom, empty ; to empty 

Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet ; a fann-house 

Tout, the blast of a horn or trumpet ; 
to blow a horn, &C. 

Tow, a rope 

£owmond, a twelvemonth 



Towzie, rough, shaggy 

Toy, a very old fashion of female head 
dress 

Toyte, to totter like old age 

Transmugriiied, transmigrated, me- 
tamorphosed 

Trashtrie, trash 

Trews, trowsers 

Trickle, full of tricks 

Trig, spruce, neat 

Trimly, excellently 

Trow, to believe 

Trowth, truth, a petty oath 

Tryste, an appointment ; a fair 

Trysted, appointed; to tryste, to maka 
an appointment 

Try't, tried 

Tug, raw hide, of which in old times 
plough-traces were frequently made 

Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quarrel, to fight 

Twa, two 

Twa-three, a few 

'Twad, it would 

Twal, twelve ; twal-pennie worth, a 
small quantity, a pennyworth. N.B. 
One penny English is i2d. Scotch. 

Twin, to part 

Tyke, a dog 

UNCO, strange, uncouth ; very, ver j 

great, prodigious 
Uncos, news 
Unkenn'd, unknown 
Unsicker, unsure, unsteady 
Unskaith'd, undamaged, imhurt 
Unweeting, unwittingly, unknowing!) 
Upo', upon 
Urchin, a hedgehog 

VAP'RIN, vapouring 



GLOSSARY. 



Vera, very 

Virl, a ring round a colunt . Sc 

Vittle, corn of all kinds, food 

WA', wall; wa's, walls 

Wabster, a weaver 

Wad, would ; to bet ; a bet, a picdge 

Wadna, would not 

Wae, wo, sorrowful 

Waefu', woful, sorrowful, wailing 

Waesucks ! or waes me ! alas ! O the 

pity! 
Waft, the cross thread that goes from 

the shuttle through the web ; woof 
Wair, to lay out, to expend 
Wale, choice ; to choose 
Waled, chose, chosen 
WaUe, ample, large, jolly ; also an £n- 

teq'ection of distress 
Wame, the belly 
Wamefu', a bellyful 
Wanchancie, unlucky 
Wanrestfu', restless 
Wark, work 

Wark-lume, a tool to work with 
Warl, or warld, world 
Warlock, a wizard 
Warly, worldly, eager on amassing 

wealth 
Warran, a warrant ; to warrant 
Warst, worst 

Warstl'd or warsl'd, wrestled 
Wastrie, prodigality 
Wat, wet ; I wat, I wot, I know 
Water-brose, brose made of meal and 

water simply, without the addition of 

milk, butter, &c. 
Wattle, a twig, a wand 
(Vauble, to swing, to reel 
'•''aught, a draught 



Waukit, thickened as fullers do doth 

Waukrife, not apt to sleep 

Waur, worse ; to worst 

Waur't, worsted 

Wean, or weanie, a child 

Wearie, or weary ; many a weary bodyi 

many a different person 
Weason, weasand 
Weaving the stocking. See Stockin, 

p. 276 
Wee, little; Wee things, little ones; 

Wee bit, a small matter 
Weel, well; Weelfare, welfare 
Weet, rain, wetness 
Weird, fate 
We'se, we shall 
Wha, who 
Whaizle, to wheeze 
Whalpit, whelped 
Whang, a leathern string ; a piece ol 

cheese, bread, &c. ; to give "the 

strappado 
Whare, where ; Whare'er, wherever 
Whase, whose 
Whatreck, nevertheless 
Wheep, to fly nimbly, jerk; penny- 

wheep, small beer 
Whid, the motion of a hare running, 

but not frighted ; a lie 
Whiddin, running as a hare or cony 
Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies 
Whingin, crying, complaining, fretting 
Whirligigums, useless ornaments, tri- 
fling appendages 
Whisht, silence ; to hold one's whisht, 

to be silent 
Whisk, to sweep, to lash 
Whiskit, lashed 
Whissle, a whistle ; to whistle 
Whitter, a hearty draught of liquor 



*8o 



GLOSSARY. 



Whun-stane, a whin- stone 

WT^vUs, whiles, sometimes 

Wi , with 

Wicht, wight, powerful, strong; in- 
ventive ; of a superior genius 

Wick, to strike a stone in an oblique 
direction ; a term in curling 

Wicker, willow (the smaller sort) 

Wiel, a small whirlpool 

Wifie, a diminutive or endearing term 
for wife 

Wilyart, bashful and reserved; avoid- 
ing society or appearing awkward in 
it ; wild, strange, timid 

Wimple, to meander 

Wimpl't, meandered 

Wimplin, waving, meandering 

Win, to win, to winnow 

Win't, winded as a bottom of yam 

Win', wind ; Win's, winds 

Winna, will not 

Winnock, a window 

Winsome, Tiearty, vaunted, gay 

Wintle, a staggering motion ; to stag- 
ger, to reel 

Winze, an oath 

Wiss, to wish 

Withoutten, without 

Wizen' d, hide-bound, dried, shrunk 

Wonner, a wonder: a contemptuous 
appellation 

Wons, dwells 

Woo', wool 

Woo, to court, to make love to 

Woodie, a rope, more properly one 
made of withes or willows 

IVooer bab, the garter knotted below 
the knee with a coup'e of loops 

Wordy, worthy 



Worset, worsted 

Wow, an exclamation of pleasure oi 
wonder 

Wrack, to tease, to vex 

Wraith, a spirit or ghost ; an appaiitios 
exactly like a living person, whose 
appearance is said to forebode the 
person's approaching death 

Wrang, wrong ; to wrong 

Wreath, a drifted heap of snow 

Wud, mad, distracted 

Wumble, wimble 

Wyle, to beguile 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest 

Wyte, blame ; to blame 

YAD, an old mare ; a worn-out horse 

Ye ; this pronoun is frequently used 
for thou 

Year is used both for singular and 
plural, years 

Yearlings, bom in the same year, co- 
evals 

Yearn, earn, an eagle, an ospray 

Yearns, longs much 

Yell, barren, that gives no milk 

Yerk, to lash, to jerk 

Yerkit, jerked, lashed 

Yestreen, yesternight 

Yett, a gate, such as is usually at th« 
entrance into a farm-yard or field 

Yill, ale 

Yird, earth 

Yokin, yoking ; a baut 

Yont, beyond 

Yoursel, yourself 

Yowe, an ewe 

Yowie, diminutive of yam 

Yule, Christmas 



INDEX 

TO THE POEMS, SONGS, &C 



Afton Water, 180. 

Aiken, Robert, Epitaph for, 256. 

Allan Stream, 157. 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 168. i 

Amang the Trees, 213. 

Ane-and-twenty, Oh for, 175. 

Anna, Gowden Locks of, 188. 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 201. 

As down the Bum, 225. 

As I was wandering, 225. 

Auld Farmer's New-year Morning Sa- 
lutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, 
50. 

Auld Lang Syne, 200. 

Auld Man, The, 162. 

Auld Rob Morris, 151. 

Author's earnest Cry and Prayer, 4. 

Author's Farewell to his native Coun- 
try 197. 



Ballochmyle, The Lass of, 150. 
Bank of Flowers, On a, 214, 
Bank-note, Lines written on t, 143. 
Banks o' Doon, The, 178. 



Banks of Devon, 189. 

Banks of Nith, The, 176. 

Banks of Nith, a ballad, 819. 

Bannockbum, 200. 

Bannocks o' Barley, 226. 

Bard's Epitaph, 257. 

Battle of SherifF-Muir, 203. 

Bed, Lines to my, 59, 

Beelzebub, Address of, to the Presidaal 

of the Highland Society, 136. 
Behold the Hour, 179. 
Belles of Mauchline, The, 217. 
Bessy and her Spinnin Wheel, 176. 
Big-bellied Bottle, The, 197. 
Birks of Aberfeldy, 169. 
Blacklock, Dr., To, 105. 
Blair, Sir James Hunter, On the Deatk 

of, 127. 
Blissful Day, The, 173. 
Blithe hae I been, 190. 
Blithe was she, 170. 
Blude-red Rose, The, 237. 
Blue-eyed Lassie, The, 174. 
Bonnie Anne, i8j. 
Bonnie Bell, 181. 



Bonme Uink o* Mar>'s e'e, 187. 
Bonnie Lad that's far away, 188. 
Bonnie Lass, 233. 

— , Here's to thy health, 229. 

Bonnie Lesley, 213. 

Bonnie Mary, 185. 

Bonnie Peg, 219. 

Bonnie wee Thing, 176. 

Book-worms, The, 142.! 

Bottle and Friend, 207. 

Braes o' Ballochmyle, 173. 

Braw Lads of Gallawater, 227. 

Braw Wooer, The, 167. 

Brigs of Ayr, 16. 

Bruar Water, The humble Petition of, 

to the Duke of Athole, 97. 
Burnet, Miss, late of Monboddo, Elegy 

on, 106. 
Bums— extempore, 143. 
Bums, Miss, Lines written under the 

Picture of, 256. 
Bushby, John, Epitaph on, 257 ; Notices 

of, 257. 



Miss, Lines to, 142. 



Can ye labour lea ? 148. 
Canst thou leave me thus? 194. 
Captain Grose, 205. 
Captain's Lady, The, 233. 
Cardin' o't. The, 229. 
Carle of Killybum Braes, 239. 
Carles of Dysart, 241. 
C*ald blast, O wert thou in the, 183. 
C*>£bock Banks, 208. 
tijevalier's Lament, The, 217. 
Chloris,— Ah, since it may na be, 245. 
I , Lines presented to, with the 

last edition of Burns' Poems, iii. 



Chloris, My,— Mark how gre«B tl 
groves, 192. 

, To, on her Illness, 194. 

, To, Behold, my love, 247. 

Clarinda, Stanzas to, 23, 24. 
Cock up your Beaver, 242. 
Collier Laddie, 246. 
Come, boat me o'er to Charlie^ 036. 
Come, let me take thee. 191. 
Coming through the Rye, 227. 
Contented wi' little, 163. 
Cooper o' Cuddie, 237. 
Cotter's Saturday Night, 59. 
Country Laird, Epitaph on a, 256. 
Country Lassie, 177. 
Craigie-Bum Wood, 224. 
Creech, Wm., Epistle to, 116, 
Crael Fate, 184. 
Cruikshank, Miss, Lines to, 96. 
Cunningham, Mrs., To, 202. 



Dacre, Lord, Lmes on an interview 

with, 107. 
Damtie Davie, 140. 
Damon and Sylvia, 218. 
Davie, a Brother Poet, Epistle to, 53. 

, Second Epistle to, loi. 

Dean of Faculty, The, 207. 

Death, a Prayer on the Prospect of, 64. 

, Stanzas on the same occasion, 

6S. 

, Song of, a Gallic air, 151. 

Death and Dr. Hornbook, 13. 
Death and dying words of poor Maillia 

27. 
Death of a favoiuite Daughter, ijj, 
Deil, Address to the, 24. 
Delia, an Ode, 125. 
Deluded Swain, 158. 



28, 



Despondency, an Ode, 58. 
Deuks dang o'er my L addle. The, 222. 
Dove, John, Epitaph on, 257, 
Drumlanrig, On the Destruction of the 

Woods near, 68. 
Dumfries Volunteers, 204, 
Dumourier, General, Address to, 216. 
Duncan Gray, 152. 

■ ■, Weary fa' you, 241. 
Dundas, Robt., On the Death of, 137. 



Edinburgh, Address to, 75. 
Election, The, a ballad, 243. 
Elegy on the Year 1788, 123. 
Eliza, Farewell to, 195. 
Elphinstone's Translation of Martial, 

Epigram on, 256. 
Epigrams, 253, 254, 255, 256. 
Epitaph, — Stop, passenger ! 84. 

on a Friend, 116. 

Epitaphs, miscellaneous, 256, 257. 

Eppie Adair, 247. 

EpjMe M'Nab, 246. 

Esopus, Epistle from, to Maria, 130. 

Evan Banks, 214. 

Excellent New Song, An, 244. 

Excessive Grief, Stanzas written while 

under the pressure of, 66. 
Excise, extemporaneous Effusions on 

being appointed to the, 255. 
Exciseman, The Deil's awa wi' the, 190. 



Fair and Fause, 178. 

Fsur Eliza, 177. 

Falsehood in the R»v. Dr. B— 's looks, 

ass- 
/•arewell. The, 930. 
rarewell, thou Stream, 163. 



Farewell to a dear Friend, 131. 
Farewell to old Scotia's bleak 



to Eliza, 19s. 

to Nancy, 188. 

to the Brethren of St. James"* 

Lodge, 198. 
Fergusson, Robert, Lament on, 98. 
, Inscription on the Tombstone 

of, 118. 
, Verses written under the Por- 



trait of, 126. 
Ferrier, Miss, Stanzas to, log. 
F6te Champfetre, 236. 
Fickle Fortune, 144. 
First Kiss of Affection, 26. 
Five Carlins, The, 220. 
Fontenelle, Miss, Address spoken by, 

on her Benefit-night, 108. 
, on seeing her in a favourite 

Character, 141. 
For a' that and a' that, 201. 
Forlorn, my love, 167. 
Fox.TotheRt. Hon. Charles James, 22. 
Frae the Friends and Lands I love, 248. 
Fragment — Her flowing locks, 217. 
Friars-Carse Hermitage, Lines written 

in, 36. 
Full well thou knowest, 169. 
Fyers, on the Fall of, near Lochness, 



Galla Water, 153. 
Gallant Weaver, The, 201. 
Galloway, Lord, On seeing the beaudAi. 

Seat of, 254 ; Epigrams on, 254. 
Gane is the Day, 175. 
Gavin Hamilton, Epitaph on, 256. 
Glencaim, James, Earl of, Lament fw 

89. 



Glencaim, Stanzas intended to accom- 
pany his Picture, 94. 

Gloomy December, 179, 

Glossary, 258. 

Goblet, Inscription on a, 141. 

Goudie, John, Letter to, on the Public- 
ation of his Essays, 128. 

Grace before Dinner, 117. 

Graham, Miss, Lines to, 133. 

Graham, Robt., of Fintry,; Epistles to, 
86, 87, 132. 

' , Lines to, it6. 

Green grow the rushes, 196. 

Grose, Capt.,on his late Peregrinations 
thro' Scotland, 94. 

Gude e'en t3 you, Kimmer, 947. 

Guid ale comes, 320. 

Guilford good our Pilot stood, 98. 

H 

Had I a cave, 158. 

Had I the wyte, aaS. 

Haggis, To a, 71. 

Halloween, 40. 

Hamilton, Gavin, A Dedication to, 73. 

— — , Lines to, recommending a 

Boy, 120. 
Happy days. When I think on those, 

246. 
Happy Trio, The, 175. 
Hark ! the Mavis, 160. 
Harry was a gallant gay, 233. 
Hee Balou, 228. 
Henderson, Capt. Matthew, Elegy 

on, 83. 
Her Daddie forbad, 328. 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 

ai8. 
Here's his health in water, 335. 
Here's the Glen, 159. 



Hermit, The, 223. 
Heron Ballads, The, 242. 
Hey, the dusty Miller, 229. 
Highland Laddie, 337. 
Highland Lassie, The, 183. 
Highland Mary, 199. 
Highland Widow's Lament, S34, 
Highlands, My heart's in the, 185, 
Holy Fair, The, 9. 
Holy Willie's Prayer, 251, 

, his Epitaph, 253. 

Honest Nappy, There's naething I3rt 

the, 146. 
How lang and dreary, 161. 
How cruel are the parents, 166. 
Husband, husband, cease your strife 

IS8. 

I 

I bum, I bum, 145. 

I do confess thou art sae fair, 186. 

I dream'd I lay where flowers w«rk 

springing, 185. 
I love my Jean, 17a. 
I see a form, 164. 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 207. 
I'll kiss thee yet, 207. 
Illegitimate Child, The Poet's Welcomj 

to his, 138. 
Illness of a beloved Child, On the 

64. 
Impromptu, addressed to a young Lad j 

in a Church, 50. 
Independence, Inscription for an AltaJ 

to, 113. 
Inventory, The, 101. 
Inverness, The lovely Lass of, i8i. 
Invitation, Extempore Answer tb vn 

246- 

It is DO, Jean> thy boniue fast. «ai. 



J 

|anue, come try me, 231. 

lacobites by name, Ye, 245. 

Jessie, 155. 

Jockey's ta'eo the parting kiss, 184. 

John Anderson, 174. 

John Barleycorn, a ballad, 193. 

Jolly Beggars, The, 45. 

Joyf J Widower, The, 230. 

K 
Katharine Jaffray, 246. 
Kemble, Mrs., Lines presented to, 255. 
Kenmore, Lines written at, 74. 
Kenmure's on and awa, 233. 
Kennedy, John, To, 137. 
Kirk of Lamington, 141. 
Kirk's Alarm, a satire, 138. 



Lady Mary-Ann, 233. 

Lady Onlie, 225. 

Lady's Bonnet, at Church, Lines on 

seeing a on, 73. 

Lady's Pocket-book, Extempore lines 

written in, 253. 
Lament, — Alas ! how oft, 57. 
, written when the Poet was 

about to leave Scotland, 126. 
Landlady, count the lawin, 231. 
Lap-dog, On the death of a, 138. 
Lapraik, John, the old Scottish Bard, 

Epistle to, 77. 

, Lines to, 120. 
Lass of Ecclefechan, 228. 
Lass that made the bed to me, The, 

222. 

L£iss wi' a tocher, 168. 
Lasses of Tarbolton, 8, 54. 
Lassie, art thou sleeping yet? 164. 



INDEX. 285 

Lassie, wi' the lint-white locks, 162. 
Lawyers, The Two, in the Parliament 

House, at Edinburgh, 79. 
Lay thy loof in mine. Lass, 219. 
Lazy Mist, The, 171. 
League and Covenant, The, 141. 
Let not woman e'er complain, 193. 
Lewars, Miss Jessy, Lines on, 141 ; 

Epitaph on, 141 ; on the Recovery 

of, 141. 
Liberty, a fragment, 118. 
Life, Poem on, 115. 
Lincluden Abbey, To the Rtiins o( 

146. 
Logan, Major, Epistle to, 134. 

, Miss, Stanzas to, 69. 
Logan Braes, 155. 
Lord Gregory, 154. 
Louis, what reck I by thee, 181. 
Lover's Morning Salute to his Mi» 

tress, 162. 



M 
M'Adam, Mr., Epistle to, 122. 
M'Leod, John, On the Death of, 96. 
M'Nash, Rev. John, To the, 120. 
M'Pherson's Farewell, 2»6. 
Maillie, Poor, Death and dying Wordi 

of, 27 ; Elegy on, 28. 
Maliys meek, Mall^s sweet, 235. 
Man was made to mourn, 63. 
Mark yonder pomp, 166. 
Mary, Prayer for, 208. 
Mary, Stanzas to. Could atightof song, 

216. 
Mary, Verses to,— Will ye go to thf 

Indies? 210. 
Mary in Heaven, 215. 
Mary Morison, 210. 
Mary, Queen of S<cots, Lament of, 84 



•86 IN. 

Master of the House by wTiom Burns 
had been hospitably treated, Verse 
to the, ii8. 

MauchUne, Verses on a Wag in, 32. 

Maun I still on Menie doat, 198. 

Maxwell, Dr., Lines to, on Miss Jessy 
Staig's Recovery, 145. 

Maxwell, John, On his Birthday, 123. 

May The Morn of, 181. 

, Charming Month of, 192. 

Medical Friend Lines to a, 107. 

Meg o' the MiV, 154. 

Merry hae I been, 234. 

Mitchell, Mr., Poem addressed to, 151. 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Ca- 
price, 113. 

Montgomerie's Peggy, 214. 

Mother's Lament for the Death of her 
Son, 211. 

Mountain Daisy, Lines to a, 67. 

Mouse, To a, on turning her up in her 
nest with the plough, 52. 

My ain Idnd dearie, 151. 

My Father, Epitaph on, 256. 

My Father was a Farmer, 212. 

My handsome Nell, 161. 

My Hoggie, 241. 

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't, 
ai8. 

My love she's but a lassie yet, 231. 

My Nannie, 195. 

My Nannie's awa, 163. 

My Tocher's the Jewel, 99. 

My wife's a winsome wee thing, 153. 

N 
Naebody, 152. 
Nancy, Farewell, 188. 
New- Year Day, 112. 
^ithdale's welcome Hame, 338. 



O a}-> my wife she dang me, 219. 

O bonnie was yon rosy briei, '^■**, 

O leave Novels, 216. 

O Poortith, 153. 

O that I had ne'er been married 248. 

O, were I on Parnassus hill, 172. 

O, were my love, 190. 

Offended Gentleman, Lines sentto**, 

"5- 
Old KJUie, Ye ;ons of, 244. 
Old Sweetheart, Verses to an, after ni« 

Marriage, 55. 
On the seas and far away, 155. 
One night as I did wai^der, 216. 
Open the door to me, oh ! 154. 
Ordination, The, 20. 
Oswald, Mrs., Ode to t!l^ Mt^or^^t 

85. 
Our Thristles, 226. 
Out over the Forth, 189^ 
Owl, To the, 145. 



Painter, Lines to a, 32. 

Parker, Hugh, Epistle to, 135. 

Parvenu, The, 145. 

Pastoral Poetry, Poem on, 110. 

Peg-a-Ramsay, 226. 

Peg Nicholson, Elegy on the De^ib o^ 

140. 
Peggy's charms, 171, 
Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. 184. 
Phillis the fair, 156. 
Philly, and her Willie, 193, 
Ploughman, The, 240. 
Poet's Daughter, Epitaph on the, 13J 
Poet's Dream, The, 30. 
Poet's Reply to a Gentleman who faa4 

sent him a Newspaper, 36. 



Polly StifcwArt, 220. 

PosU, The, 178. 

Posthumous Child, On the Birth of a, 

100. 
Poverty, Epigram on, 255. 
Prayer on the Prospect of Dpath, 64. 
' under the prsssure of violent 

anguish, 66. 
Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, 

EUisland, 105. 

, spoken by Mr. Woods on his 

Benefit-night, 147. 
Prudence, In vain would, 144. 
Psalm the First, 66. 
Psalm the Ninetieth, first six verses 

of, 67. 

R 

Raging Fortune's with'ring blast, 214. 

Rankine, John, Epistle to, 82. 
, Verses to, 253, 254. 

Rantin Dog, The, 186. 

Rattlin' roaring Willie, 234. 

Raving Winds, &c., 170. 

Red, red Rose, 182. 

Remorse, 143, 

Richardson, Gabriel, Epitaph on, 135. 

Riddel, Capt., Extempore Lines to, on 
returning a Newspaper, 123. 

Riddel, Mrs., Impromptu on her Birth- 
day, 124. 

Riddel, Robt., Lines on, 143. 

" , Sonnet on the Death of, 113. 

Rights of Woman, The, 108. 

Rigs o' Barley 195. 

Roaring ocean. Musing on the, 17a. 

Robin shure in hairst, 220. 

*loom where the Author slept. Verses 
written in the, 65: 

Rosebud, The. 171. 



Ruin, Lines to, 48. 

Ruisseaux, Robt., Elegy on the Dej>dl 

Ruling Elder, Epitaph on a, 356. 



Sae far away, 235. 
Saw ye my dear, 191. 
Schoolmaster, Epigram en a, 3$$, 
Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies, 

Lines on a, 70. 
Scotch Drink, 4. 
Scroggam, 249. 
Selkirk Grave, The, 140. 
Sensibility, Stanzas on, 213. 
She says she \at't sw best of ?', 160. 
Sick Child, On a, 144 
Simmer's a pleasant time, 236. 
Simpson, Wm., To, 79. 
Sketch, 126. 
Smellie, Mr. Wm., Extempore Lin^ 

on, 112. 
Smith, James, To, 28. 
Sodger's Return, The, 211. 
Somebody, For the sake of, 181. 
Stay, my Charmer, 169. 
Steer her up, 235. 

Stirling Castle, Lines on viewing, 119. 
Strathallan's Lament, 170. 
Suicide, Epigram on a, 131. 
Sutherland, Mr,, Prologue for hi» )>eiwv 

fit-night at Dumfries, 124. 
Sweet fa's the eye, 164. 
Sweetest May, 216. 
Syme, Mr., Extempore Lines ta^ xa^. 



Tailor, The, 238. 

Tait, James, Letter to, 139. 

Tamj the Chapman, 145. 



Tain Glen, 174. 

Tam o' Shanter, 91 . 

Tarn Samson's Elegy, 37. 

Tarbolton Lasses, 8, 54. 

Taylor, John, To, 143. 

Tears I shed, 249. 

Their groves o' sweet myrtles, 165. 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 230. 

There was a Lad, 210. 

There was a Lass, and she was fair, 156. 

There was a Lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

340. 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame, 309 
There's a Youth, 186. 
There's news, Lasses, 347. 
Thine am I, 159. 
Thomson, Address to the Shade of, on 

crowning his Bust at Ednam, 96. 
Thou hast left me ever, 192. 
Tibbie Dunbar, 324. 
Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 172. 
Tither mora. The, 238. 
Toast, — Fill me with the rosy wine, 141. 
— — , Instead of a song, boys, 253. 
Tooth-ache, Address to the, 99. 
Tragic Fragment, 148. 
Tree of Liberty, The, 39, 
Twa Dogs, a tale, 1. 
twa Herds, The, 249. 
•Twas na her bonnie blue e'e, 165. 
Tytlers, Mr. Wm., Poetical Address 

to. III. 

U 
Jnco Guid, Address to the, 37. 
Jnion, The, 223. 
Up in the Morning early, 184. 



i^ion,— The Sun had closed, 3a 



Vision,— As I stood by yon rutUMi 

tower, 183 
Vowels, The, a tale, 123. 



Wandering Willie, 155. 

Was e'er puir Poet, 146. 

Wat ye wha that lo'es me, 247. 

Wat ye wha's in yon town, 182. 

Water-fowl in Loch Turit, 253. 

Wauchope-house, Answer to Guidwifti 

of, 119. 
Wee Johnny, Epitaph on, 256. 
Wee Willie Gray, 224. 
Westlia Winds, 126. 
Wha is she that lo'es me, 205. 
Wha is that at my bower door f 187. 
Whare did ye get, 235. 
Whare hae ye been, 242. 
When first I came to Stewart Ky^e, 

213. 
Where are the joys, 191. 
Whistle, The, a ballad, 102. 
Whistle, and I'll come to you, my ku^ 

157- 
Whistle owre the lave o't, 206. 
Whiteford, Sir John, Lines seat tot 

with a Poem, 91. 
Why tell thy lover, 202. 
Why the deuce, 220. 
Willie Chalmers, 142. 
Willie's Wife, 180. 
Wilt thou be my dearie f 159, 
Winding Nith, Adown, 189. 
Windows, Lines written on, «t Dqm 

fries, 255, 256. 
Winter, a dirge, 59. 
Winter, it is past, 217. 
Winter Night, 53. 
Women's Minds, «X5. 



inro»dkrk. Address to the, 165. 
Wounded Hare, Stanza« on seeing a. 



Ve hae lien a' wrang. Lassie, ai8. 
Ytv wild sAossy mountains, 187. 



IX. »«« 

Voung Friend, Epistle to ^, 69. 
Young Jockey, 206. 
Young Lady, Verses to a, 110. 
Young Lassie,— What can she do wiA 

an Auld Man ? 173. 
Young Peggy, 209. 
Yours this moment I unseal. To —— . 

144. 



INDEX 

TO THE FIRST LINES. 



A Highland lad my love was born, 47. 
A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping 

wight, 126. 
A guid New Year I wish thee, Maggie, 

50. 
A robe of seeming truth and trust, 9. 
A rose-bud by my early walk, 172. 
A' the lads o' Thomie bank, 225. 
A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, 69. 
Accept the gift of a friend sincere, 66. 
Adieu J a heart-warm, fond adieu, 198. 
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 

74- 
Adown winding Nith I did wander, 

189. 
Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 

254- 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, 188. 
Again rejoicing Nature sees, 198. 
Again the silent whf els of time, 69. 
\h, Chloris, since it v\a.y na be, 245. 



All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 

148. 
All hail ! inexorable lord, 68. 
Altho' my back be at the wa', 225. 
Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 214. 
Amang the trees, where humming 

bees, 213. 
Among the heathy hills and ragged 

woods, 100. 
An' O for ane-and-twenty, Tam, 175. 
An honest man here lies at rest, 116. 
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 201. 
Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomj 

December, 179. 
An' Oh ! my Eppie, 247. 
As cauld a wind as ever blew, 141. 
As down the burn they took their wa> 

225. 
As I came in by our gate end, 319. 
As I stood by yon roofless tow«t 

183. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINJSs^. 



As I was t wand'ring ae midsummer 

e'enin, 225. 
As I was walking up the street, 235. 
As Maillie and hei lambs thegither, 27. 
As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 

68. 
As Tam, the chapman, on a day, 145. 
Auld chuckie's sair distrest, 116. 
Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, 

129. 
Awa, Whigs, awa ! 226. 
Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 



B 

>{annocks o' bear meal, 226. 
Beauteous rose-bud, yoimg and gay, 

96. 
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 

19S- 
Behold, my love, how green the groves, 

847- 
Behold the hour, the boat arrive, 179. 
Peyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dea- 
rie, 224. 
iless the Redeemer, O Cardoness, 256. 
Blithe, blithe, and merry was she, 170. 
Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 190. 
Blockheads with reason wicked wits 

abhor, 249. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 169. 
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

176. 
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water, 227. 
Bright ran I hy line, O Galloway, 254, 
But lately seen in gladsome green, 162. 
But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 

141. 
By Allan stream I chsnc'd to rove, 

TJ7. 



By yon castle wa' at 
day, 209. 



Ca' the yowes to the knowes, i6o. 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katyt 

194. 
Cauld is the e'enin' blast, 226. 
Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 

256. 
Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 23. 
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'et, 

227. 
Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

191. 
Coming through the rye, poor body 

227. 
Contented wi' little, and cantie wT 

mair, 163. 
Could aught of song declare my pains, 

216. 
Curse on ungrateful man, that c*n Ex 

pleas'd, 126. 

\P 

Dear , I'll gie ye some advice, 3a. 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief, aS. 
Deluded swain, the pleasure, 158. 
Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, S07. 
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat . 

204, : 
Duncan Gray came here to wbo, 159. 
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 85. 



Earth'd up here lies an imp o* hel^ 
131. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling sea«, 75. 
Expect na, Sir, ui this nariation, 73, 



INDEX 7-0 THE fiRST LINES. 



Faif fa' your honest, sonsie face, 71. 
Fair mistress of the Poet's soul, 24. 
Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 

so- 
Fair the face of orient day, 125. 
Farewell, dear frieml ! may guid luck 

hit you, 137. 
Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains. 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green 

earth, and ye side*, 151. 
Farewell, thou stream that winding 

flows, 163. 
Farewell to a' Scottish fame, 223. 
Farewell, ye dungeons d^k and strong, 

204. 
Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 

en. 
Fill me with the rosy wine, 141. 
Fintry, my stay in worldly strife, 132. 
First when Maggy was my care, 206. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes, 180. 
For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 

125. 
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 167. 
Frae the friends and land I love, 248. 
Friday first's the day appointed, .107. 
Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 115. 
From thee, Eliza, I must go, 195. 
From those drear solitudftj and frowzy 

cells, 130. 
Full well thou knowesl I love thee, 

dear, 169. 
Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 243. 



Gane is the day, «nd mirk's the night, 
X7S. 



Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 328. 
Give him strong drink until he wink, 4. 
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 185. 
Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I 

may live, 253. 
Green grow the rashes, 196. 
Gude'en to you, Kimmer, 247. 
Guid-momin to your Majesty ! 30. 
Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 

120. 



Ha ! whareyegaun, ye crowlin ferlie, 7 
Had I a cave on some wild distaul 

shore, 158. 
Had I the wyte, had I the viTrte, aaS. 
Hail, Poesie, thou Nymph reserved, 

no. 
Hail,thairm-inspirin',rattlin'Willie,i34. 
Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil f 

37- 
He clench'd liis pamphlets in his fist, 

79- 
Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief I 

123. 
Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots 

94. 
Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 39. 
Heebalou ! my sweet wee Donald, 228. 
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad, 

228. 
Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,2i7. 
Here awa, there awa, wandering Wil- 
lie, iSS- 
Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 

135- 
Here Holy Willie's siir- worn clay, Ji» 
Here is the glen, and here the bow««( 

159- 
Here lie Willie Michie's bones, 35j|. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



Here Um John Bushby, honest man, 
257- 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon, 257. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 135. 

Here sowter Hood in Death does sleep, 
256. 

Here Stuarts ance in glory reign'd, 119. 

Here, where the Scottish muse immor- 
tal lives, no. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend,207. 

Here's a health to aue I lo'e dear, 168. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 21S. 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
229. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 229. 

How can my poor heart be glad, 159. 

How colS is that bosom which folly 
once fir'd, 113. 

How cruel are the parents, 166. 

How lang and dreary is the night, 161. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear- 
winding Devon, 1S9. 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and 
unite, 22. 

Humid seal of soft affections, 26. 

Husband, husband, cease your strife, 
XS8. 

i am a bard of no regard, 49. 
I am a keeper of the law, 253. 
I am a son of Mars, who have been in 

many wars, 45. 
I bum, I biuu, as when thro' ripen'd 

com, 14s, 
^ call no goddess to inspire my strains, 

116. 
I coft a stane o' haslock woo', 229. 
I do confess thou art sae fair, 186. 
I dreaM'd I lay where flowers were 

springing, 185. 



I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 174. 
I gat your letter, winsome Willie, 7^ 
I hae a wife o' my aia, 152. 
I hold it. Sir, my bounden duty^ 13a. 
I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend 

69. 
I married with a scolding wife, 330. 
I mind it weel, in early date, 119.: 
I once was a maid, tho' I canoot Uk 

when, 46. 
I see a form, I see a face, 166. 
I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth 

102. 
If ye gae up to yon hill tap, S4. 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 307. 
I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 207. 
Ill-fated genius 1 HeaVn-tau {ht Fw 

gusson, 98. 
I'm three times, doubly, o'er j our debt- 
or, lOI. 
In coming by the brigs o' Dyo, a30. 
In Mauchline there dwells six oropei 

young belles, 217. 
In politics if thou wou\dst mix, ^55. 
In simmer, when the hay was mawD, 

177. 
In this strange land, this uncouth cLune, 

135- 
In Tai'bolton, ye ken, there are pr<v« 

yoimg men, 8. 
In vain would Pru4ence, with decoroui 

sneer, 144. 
In wood and wild, ye warbling thrimg 

138. 
Inhuman man I ciuse on thy baibar 

ous art, 95. 
Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give yo« 

a Toast, 253. 
Is there a whim-inspired foo' 957. 
Is there, for honest poverty, aoi. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



It is na, Jean, thj bonoie face, 231. 
It was a' for our rightfu' King, 230. 
It was the charming month of May, 

192. 
It was upon a Lamrias night, 195. 



Jimie, come try m;, 231. 
Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 184. 
fohn Anderson, n:y Jo, John, 174. 

K 
Kemble, thou cui st my vmbelief, 255. 
Ken ye aught of Captain Grose? 203. 
Kilmarnock Walsters, fidge and claw, 

20. 
Kind Sir, I've re£.d your paper through, 

26. 
Know thou, a stranger to the fame, 

256. 

L 
Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 

32- 
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 28. 
Landlady, count the lawin', 231. 
Lang, lang the night, 194. 
Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 164. 
Lassie wi' the lint- white locks, 162. 
Last May a braw wooer cam down the 

lang glen, 167. 
Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 

88. 
Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 48. 
Let not woman e'er complain, 193. 
Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 106. 
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 

flocks, 137. 
L«Dg life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 

136. 
Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 169. 



Louis, what reck I byaiee, 181. 

M 
Mark yonder pomp of costly I 

166. 
Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 145. 
Musing on the roaring ocean, 170. 
My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 48. 
My Chloris, mark how green the grove*, 

192. 
My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 99. 
My Father was a Farmer, upon th« 

Carrick border, O, 212. 
My Harry was a gallant gay, 223. 
My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 

174. 
My heart is sair, I dare na tell, i8i. 
My heart was ance as blythe and free, 

232. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 

is not here, 183. 
My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel, 115. 
My lady's gown there's gairs upon t, 

218. 
My Lord, I know your noble ear, 97. 
My loVd, my honour'd, much-respected 

friend, 59. 
My love, she's but a lassie yet, 231. 
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 

184. 
My son, these maxims make a rule, j». 

N 
Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fail, 

183. 
Nae heathen name shall I prefix, 109. 
No churchman am I, for to rail and ta 

wnte, 197. 
No more, ye warblers of the 

more, 113. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



No more ol your guests, be they titled 
or not, 114. 

No more of your titled acquaintances 
boast, 145. 

No •culptur'd marble here, nor pomp- 
ous lay, 118. 

No song nor dance I bring from yon 
great city, 105. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 254. 

Now bank an' brai are claith'd in 
green, 187. 

Now health forsakes tnat angel face, 
64. 

Now in her green mantle blythe Na- 
ture arrays, 163. 

Now, Keimedy, if foot or horse, 137. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green, 
84. 

Now Robin lies in his last lair, 118. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
140. 

Now spring has clad the groves in 
green, 202. 

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns, 196. 



O aye my wife she dang me, 219. 
O bonnie was yon rosy brier, 166. 
O cam ye here the fight to shun, 203. 
O can ye labour lea, young man? 148. 
O could I give thee India's wealth, 138. 
O Death I thou tyrant fell and bloody, 

83. 
O Goudie ! terror o' the Whigs, 128. 
O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 

O, had the malt thy strength of mind, 

T14. 
how can I be blithe and glad, 188. 



O how shall I, unskilfu', try, 23a. 

O ken ye what "Meg o' the Mill hai 

gotten, 154. 
O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie, 233, 
O Lady Mary-Ann, 233. 
O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 219. 
O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles, 

216. 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel, 176. 
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, 15 j. 
O lovely Polly Stewart, 220. 
O luve will venture in, where it daui 

na weel be seen, 178. 
O Mary, at thy window be, 210. 
O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 

181. 
O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

99- 
O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle 

234. 
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, 

154- 
O mount and go, 233. 
O, my luve's like a red, red rose, i8a. 
O Philly, happy be that day, 193. 
O poortith cauld, and restless love, 153, 
O raging Fortune's withering blast, 214, 
O rattlin', roarin' Willie, 234. 
O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankiue 

82. 
O, sad and heavy should I part, 235. 
O saw ye bonnie Lesley, 213. 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely, w)i. 
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M 'Nsib 

246. 
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay 

165. 
O steer her up, and hand hergaun, 235 
O that I had ne'er been married, 948. 
O this is no my ain lassie, 16A. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



thou dread power who reign'st 

above, 65. 
O Thou Great Being ! what Thou art, 

66. 
O thou pale Orb, that silent shines, 57. 
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend, 

67. 
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause, 64. 
O Thou, wha in the Heavens dost dwell, 

251- 
O Thou, who kindly dost provide, 117. 
O thou, whom Poetry abhors, 256. 
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 172. 
O wat ye wha's in yon town, 182. 
O were I on Parnassus' hill, 172. 
O were my love yon lilac fair, 190. 
O wert thou in the cauld blast, 183. 
O wha is she that lo'es me, 205. 
O wha my babie-clouts will buy? 186. 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

236. 
O whare did ye get that hauver-meal 

bannock, 235. 
O whare live ye, my bonnie lass, 246. 
O what ye wha that lo'es me, 247. 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 

157- 
O why the deuce should I repine, 220. 
O Wilhe brew'd a peck o' maut, 173. 
O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 

Dunbar, 224. 
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel, 37. 
O ye; whose cheek the tear of pity 

stains, 256. 
\5f a' the airts the wind can blaw, 172. 
Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 

peace, 143. 
Oh I I am come to the low. countrie, 

334. 
Oh once I loved a bonnie lass, z6i. 



Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 

154- 
Oh Prince ! oh chief of many-throned 

powers, 24. 
Oh ! sweet be thy sleep in the land o\ 

the grave, 13. 
Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 114. 
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 

214. 
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells, 208, 
Once fondly loved, and still remera- 

ber'd dear, 55. 
One night as I did wander, 216. 
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories 

tell, 254. 
Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with 

care, 58. 
Orthodox, orthodox, 138. 
Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

189. 
O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lono 

moimtains straying, 126. 



Peg Nicholson was a gude bay maie, 

140. 
Power, celestials whose protection, 

208. 

R 
Raving winds around her "blowing, 170. 
Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 

III. 
Right, Sir ! yotu- text I'll prove it 

true, 23. 
Robin shure in hairst, 220. 



Sad Bird of Night, what sorrow caila 

thee forth, 145. 
Sad thy tale, thou idk page, 56, 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



Sac flaxen were her ringlets, i6o. 
Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth, 
141. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 200. 
See the smoking bowl before us, 49. 
Searching auld wives' barrels, 255. 
She is a winsome wee thing, 152. 
She's fair and fause that causes my 

smart, 178. 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

200. 
Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan 

came, ua. 
Simmer's a pleasant time, 236. 
Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leaf- 
less bough, 114. 
Sir, as your mandate did request, loi 
Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 122. 
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 47 
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest 

creature, 162. 
Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires. 

214. 
Some books are lies frae end to end, 13, 
Some hae meat, and canna eat, 140. 
Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

254- 
Stay, my charmer, can you leave me f 

i6g. 
Still anxious toj secure your partial 

favour, 108. 
Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 84. 
Streams that gUde in orient plains, 50. 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bum, 

164. 
Sweet flow let, pledge o' meikle love, 

100. 
Sweet naTvetS of feature, 141. 
Sweetest May, let love inspire thee, 

•16. 



Talk not to me of savages, 141. 
That there is falsehood in his lookik 

255- 
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

222. 
The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 

237- 
The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 237. 
The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

173- 
The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa, 

237- 
The day returns, my bosom bums, 

173- 
The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 

190. 
The friend whom wild from wisdom's 

way, 115. 
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 

197. 
The grey-beard, old Wisdom, may 

boast of his treasures, 256. 
The King's most humble servant, I, 

24S- 
The kirk and state may join, and tell, 

189. 
The lamp of day, with ill-presaging 

glare, 127. 
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 

the hill, 171. 
The lovely lass o' Inverness, 181. 
The man, in life wherever plac'd, 66. 
The noble Maxwells and their powers, 

238. 
The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, 340, 
The poor man weeps — here Gavin 

sleeps, 256. 
The simple Bard, rough at the rusti« 

plough, 16. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



rke small birds rejoice ia the green 

leaves returning, 217. 
l"he smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 

181. 
rhe Solemn League and Covenant, 

141. 
The sun had clos'd the winter day, 32. 
rhe Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a', 238. 
ITie tears I shed must ever fall, 249. 
The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

176. 
The tither mom, 238. 
rhe wind blew hollow frae the hills, 89. 
The 4>uiter it is past, and the simmer's 

come at last, 217. 
The wintry west extends his blast, 59- 
Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 

among, ti8. 
Their groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign 

lands reckon, 165. 
There is death in the cup — sae beware, 

141. 
There lived a carle on Kellybum braes, 

239- 
There liv'd a lass in yonder dale, 246. 
There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, 

bonnie lass, 223. 
There was a lad was bom at Kyle, 210. 
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

240. 
There was a lass, ard she was fair, 156. 
There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, 

Scroggam, 249. 
ITiere was once a day, but old Time 

then was young, 202. 
There were five Carlins in the south. 

There were ttree Kings into the east. 



There's a youth in this city, it were a 

great pity, jS6. 
There's auld RoL Morris that wons w 

yon glen, 151. 
There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow 

braes, 153. 
There's naething like the honest nappy 

146. 
There's news, lasses, news, 248. 
Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelUns 

170. 
Thine am I, my faithful fair, 159. 
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 114. 
This day Time winds th' exhausted 

chain, 112. 
This wot ye all whom it concern, 107. 
Tho' women's minds, hke winter winds, 

215- 

Thou bed, in which I first began, 59, 
Thou flattering mark of friendship kind, 

142. 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 19a. 
Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray. 

215. 
Thou of an independent mind, 113. 
Thou, who thy honour as thy God »e- 

ver'st, 91. 
Thou whom chance may hither lead, 

36. 
Though cruel fate should bid us part, 

184. 
Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd 

me, 144. 
Thou's welcome, wean ! mischanter fk' 

me, 128. 
Through and through the inspired 

leaves, 14a. 
*Tis Friendship's pledge, my y«ung faij 

friend, iii. 
Te Riddel, much lamented man, 14), 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome 

plains, 219. 
rrue-hearted was he, the sad swain of 

the Yarrow, 135. 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 177. 
Twas even —the dewy fields were green, 

ISO. 
Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, i. 
Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my 

ruin, 165. 
Twas where the birch and sounding 

thong are pl/d, 123. 

U 
Up in the morning's no for me, 184. 
Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 241. 
Upon that night, when Fairies light. 



W 
Wae worth Ithy jwwer, thou cursed 

leaf, 143. 
Was e'er puir Poet sae befitted, 146. 
Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray, 241. 
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 

67. 
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet, 224. 
Wha is that at my bower door ? 187. 
Wha will buy my troggin, 244. 
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 242. 
What can a yoimg lassie, 175. 
What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 

254. 
What needs this din about the town o' 

Lon'on, 124. 
What will I do gin my Hoggie die, 241. 
Vhen biting Boreas, fell and doure ? 53- 



\Vhen Dy a gen'rou!> Public's kind •& 

claim, 147. 
When chapman billies leave the street, 

91. 
When chill November's surly blast, 63. 
When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

118. 
When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 213. 
When first my brave Johnnie lad, 24* 
When Guilford good our pilot stood, 98. 
When I think on the happy days, 246, 
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, 

222. 
When lyart-leaves bestrew the yird, 45. 
When Nature her great master-pie";* 

design' d, 86. 
When o'er the hill the eastern star, 151. 
When wild war's deadly blast waj 

blawn, 211. 
Where are the joys I have met in the 

morning, 171. 
Where, braving angry winter's storms, 

171. 
Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, 201. 
While at the stook the shearers coVr, 

120. 
While briers an' woodbines budding 

green, 76. 
While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty 

things, 108. 
While larks with little wing, 156. 
While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 

77- 
While virgin spring, by Eden's flood, 

96. 
While wins frae aff Ben-Lomond blAW 

55- 
Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 954. 
Whoe'er thou art, O readei, knaw 

as6> 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



»* 



iVhoe'er thou art, these lines now read- 
ing, 223. 

^Vhom \ ill you send to London town., 
242. 

VVliose is that noble, dauntless brow, 
94. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly 
scene, 65. 

Why, why tell thy lover, 202. 

Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, 
142. 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 210. 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 180. 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 159. 

With Pegasus upon a day, 143. 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie 1 
105. 



Ve banks and braes and streams around, 

199. 
Ve banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

178. 
Ve flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 179. 
Ve gallants bright, I rede you right, 



Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassic, 218. 
Ye holy walls, that still sublime, 146. 
Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights and Squires, 

6. 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give 

an ear, 245. 
Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this 

sneering, 235. 
_Yc sons of old Killie, assembled bv 

Willie, 244. 
Ye true "Loyal Natives," attend ("■omy 

song, 143. 
Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, xSS. 
Yon wandering rill, that marks the hill, 

218. 
Yon wild mossy mountains, sae loftj 

and wide, 187. 
Young Jockey was the blithest lad, 206. 
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

209. 
Your News and Rcvierf, Sir, IN'e read 

123. 
You're welcom* to d«spof< Dtimo«rio» 

216. 
Yours this mr«m<«ni I tr<iSfc.!l, i».i. 



LIBRARY 




